IC-NRLF 


MADAME   DELPHHSTE 


MADAME  DELPHINE 


BY 


GEORGE  W.  CABLE 

Author  of" Old  Creole  Days,"  "  The  Grandissimes,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY 

1881 


\  V  \ 


COPYRIGHT 

1881 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


i  CO., 
NEW   YORK. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

AN  OLD  HOUSE 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
MADAME  DELPHINE 7 

CHAPTER  III. 
CAPITAINE  LEMAITRE 12 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THREE  FRIENDS 18 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  CAP  FITS , 28 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  CRY  OF  DISTRESS 40 

CHAPTER   VII. 

MlCHE    VlGNEVIELLE 50 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
SHE 59 

CHAPTER  IX. 

OLIVE 68 

iii 


IV 

CHAPTER  X. 

PAGE 

BIRDS 74 

CHAPTER  XI. 
FACE  TO  FACE 82 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  MOTHER  BIRD f 90 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
TRIBULATION 99 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
BY  AN  OATH 106 

CHAPTER  XV. 
KYRIE  ELEISON  . .  .  120 


jririt] 
^£^ 

MADAME    DELPHINE. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

AN     OLD     HOUSE. 

A  FEW  steps  from  the  St.  Charles  Hotel,  in 
New  Orleans,  brings  you  to  and  across  Canal 
street,  the  central  avenue  of  the  city,  and  to 
that  corner  where  the  flower-women  sit  at  the 
inner  and  outer  edges  of  the  arcaded  side- 
walk, and  make  the  air  sweet  with  their  fra- 
grant merchandise.  The  crowd — and  if  it  is 
near  the  time  of  the  carnival  it  will  be  great — 
will  follow  Canal  street. 

But  you  turn,  instead,  into  the  quiet,  narrow 
way  which  a  lover  of  Creole  antiquity,  in  fond- 
ness for  a  romantic  past,  is  still  prone  to  call 
the  Rue  Eoyale.  You  will  pass  a  few  restau- 
rants, a  few  auction  rooms,  a  few  furniture 
warehouses,  and  will  hardly  realize  that  you 
1 


Z  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

have  left  behind  you  the  activity  and  clatter 
of  a  city  of  merchants  before  you  find  yourself 
in  a  region  of  architectural  decrepitude,  where 
an  ancient  and  foreign-seeming  domestic  life, 
in  second  stories,  overhangs  the  ruins  of  a 
former  commercial  prosperity,  and  upon  every- 
thing has  settled  down  a  long  Sabbath  of  de- 
cay. The  vehicles  in  the  street  are  few  in 
number,  and  are  merely  passing  through ;  the 
stores  are  shrunken  into  shops ;  you  see  here 
and  there,  like  a  patch  of  bright  mould,  the  stall 
of  that  significant  fungus,  the  Chinaman.  Many 
great  doors  are  shut  and  clamped  and  grown 
gray  with  cobweb  ;  many  street  windows  are 
nailed  up  ;  half  the  balconies  are  begrimed  and 
rust-eaten,  and  many  of  the  humid  arches  and 
alleys  which  characterize  the  older  Franco- 
Spanish  piles  of  stuccoed  brick  betray  a  squalor 
almost  oriental. 

Yet  beauty  lingers  here.  To  say  nothing  of 
the  picturesque,  sometimes  you  get  sight  of 
comfort,  sometimes  of  opulence,  through  the 
unlatched  wicket  in  some  porte-cochere — red- 
painted  brick  pavement,  foliage  of  dark  palm 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  3 

or  pale  banana,  marble  or  granite  masonry  and 
blooming  parterres ;  or  through  a  chink  be- 
tween some  pair  of  heavy  batten  window-shut- 
ters, opened  with  an  almost  reptile  wariness, 
your  eye  gets  &  glimpse  of  lace  and  brocade 
upholstery,  silver  and  bronze,  and  much  simi- 
lar rich  antiquity. 

The  faces  of  the  inmates  are  in  keeping ;  of 
the  passengers  in  the  street  a  sad  proportion 
are  dingy  and  shabby ;  but  just  when  these  are 
putting  you  off  your  guard,  there  will  pass  you 
a  woman — more  likely  two  or  three — of  patri- 
cian beauty. 

Now,  if  you  will  go  far  enough  down  this  old 
street,  you  will  see,  as  you  approach  its  inter- 
section with .  Names  in  that  region  elude 

one  like  ghosts. 

However,  as  you  begin  to  find  the  way  a 
trifle  more  open,  you  will  not  fail  to  notice 
on  the  right-hand  side,  about  midway  of  the 
square,  a  small,  low,  brick  house  of  a  story  and 
a  half,  set  out  upon  the  sidewalk,  as  weather- 
beaten  and  mute  as  an  aged  beggar  fallen 
asleep.  Its  corrugated  roof  of  dull  red  tiles, 


4  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

sloping  down  toward  you  with  an  inward  curve, 
is  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  in  the  fall  of  the 
year  is  gay  with  the  yellow  plumes  of  the 
golden-rod.  You  can  almost  touch  with  your 
cane  the  low  edge  of  the  broad,  overhanging 
eaves.  The  batten  shutters  at  door  and  win- 
dow, with  hinges  like  those  of  a  postern,  are 
shut  with  a  grip  that  makes  one's  knuckles  and 
nails  feel  lacerated.  Save  in  the  brick-work 
itself  there  is  not  a  cranny.  You  would  say  the 
house  has  the  lock-jaw.  There  are  two  doors, 
and  to  each  a  single  chipped  and  battered  mar- 
ble step.  Continuing  on  down  the  sidewalk, 
on  a  line  with  the  house,  is  a  garden  masked 
from  view  by  a  high,  close  board-fence.  You 
may  see  the  tops  of  its  fruit-trees — pomegran- 
ate, peach,  banana,  fig,  pear,  and  particularly 
one  large  orange,  close  by  the  fence,  that  must 
be  very  old. 

The  residents  over  the  narrow  way,  who  live 
in  a  three-story  house,  originally  of  much  pre- 
tension, but  from  whose  front  door  hard  times 
have  removed  almost  all  vestiges  of  paint,  will 
tell  you : 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  5 

"  Yass,  de  'ouse  is  in'abit ;  'tis  live  in." 

And  this  is  likely  to  be  all  the  information 
you  get — not  that  they  would  not  tell,  but 
they  cannot  grasp  the  idea  that  you  wish  to 
know — until,  possibly,  just  as  you  are  turning 
to  depart,  your  informant,  in  a  single  word  and 
with  the  most  evident  non-appreciation  of  its 
value,  drops  the  simple  key  to  the  whole  mat- 
ter: 

"Dey's  quadroons." 

He  may  then  be  aroused  to  mention  the  bet- 
ter appearance  of  the  place  in  former  years, 
when  the  houses  of  this  region  generally  stood 
farther  apart,  and  that  garden  comprised  the 
whole  square. 

Here  dwelt,  sixty  years  ago  and  more,  one 
Delphine  Carraze ;  or,  as  she  was  commonly 
designated  by  the  few  who  knew  her,  Madame 
Delphine.  That  she  owned  her  home,  and  that 
it  had  been  given  her  by  the  then  deceased 
companion  of  her  days  of  beauty,  were  facts  so. 
generally  admitted  as  to  be,  even  as  far  back  as 
that  sixty  years  ago,  no  longer  a  subject  of  gos- 
sip. She  was  never  pointed  out  by  the  deni- 


6  MADAME   DELPHINE. 

zens  of  the  quarter  as  a  character,  nor  her  house 
as  a  "feature."  It  would  haye  passed  all 
Creole  powers  of  guessing  to  divine  what  you 
could  find  worthy  of  inquiry  concerning  a 
retired  quadroon  woman  ;  and  not  the  least 
puzzled  of  all  would  have  been  the  timid  and 
restive  Madame  Delphine  herself. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

MADAME     DELPHINE. 

DUBING  the  first  quarter  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, the  free  quadroon  caste  of  New  Orleans 
was  in  its  golden  age.  Earlier  generations — 
sprung,  upon  the  one  hand,  from  the  merry 
gallants  of  a  French  colonial  military  service 
which  had  grown  gross  by  affiliation  with  Span- 
ish-American frontier  life,  and,  upon  the  other 
hand,  from  comely  Ethiopians  culled  out  of 
the  less  negroidal  types  of  African  live  goods, 
and  bought  at  the  ship's  side  with  vestiges  of 
quills  and  cowries  and  copper  wire  still  in  their 
head-dresses, — these  earlier  generations,  with 
scars  of  battle  or  private  rencontre  still  on  the 
fathers,  and  of  servitude  on  the  manumitted 
mothers,  afforded  a  mere  hint  of  the  splendor 
that  was  to  result  from  a  survival  of  the  fairest 
through  seventy-five  years  devoted  to  the  elimi- 
7 


8  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

nation  of  the  black  pigment  and  the  cultivation 
of  hyperian  excellence  and  njmphean  grace 
and  beauty.  Nor,  if  we  turn  to  the  present,  is 
the  evidence  much  stronger  which  is  offered  by 
the  gens  de  couleur  whom  you  may  see  in  the 
quadroon  quarter  this  afternoon,  with  "  Icha- 
bod  "  legible  on  their  murky  foreheads  through 
a  vain  smearing  of  toilet  powder,  dragging  their 
chairs  down  to  the  narrow  gate-way  of  their 
close-fenced  gardens,  and  staring  shrinkingly 
at  you  as  you  pass,  like  a  nest  of  yellow  kittens. 
But  as  the  present  century  was  in  its  second 
and  third  decades,  the  quadroones  (for  we  must 
contrive  a  feminine  spelling  to  define  the  strict 
limits  of  the  caste  as  then  established)  came 
forth  in  splendor.  Old  travellers  spare  no 
terms  to  tell  their  praises,  their  faultlessness 
of  feature,  their  perfection  of  form,  their  varied 
styles  of  beauty, — for  there  were  even  pure  Cau- 
casian blondes  among  them, — their  fascinating 
.manners,  their  sparkling  vivacity,  their  chaste 
and  pretty  wit,  their  grace  in  the  dance,  their 
modest  propriety,  their  taste  and  elegance  in 
dress.  In  the  gentlest  and  most  poetic  sense 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  9 

they  were  indeed  the  sirens  of  this  land,  where 
it  seemed  "always  afternoon" — a  momentary 
triumph  of  an  Arcadian  over  a  Christian  civili- 
zation, so  beautiful  and  so  seductive  that  it  be- 
came the  subject  of  special  chapters  by  writers 
of  the  day  more  original  than  correct  as  social 
philosophers. 

The  balls  that  were  got  up  for  them  by  the 
male  sang-pur  were  to  that  day  what  the  carni- 
val is  to  the  present.  Society  balls  given  the 
same  nights  proved  failures  through  the  coin- 
cidence. The  magnates  of  government, — muni- 
cipal, state,  federal, — those  of  the  army,  of  the 
learned  professions  and  of  the  clubs, — in  short, 
the  white  male  aristocracy  in  everything  save 
the  ecclesiastical  desk, — were  there.  Tickets 
were  high-priced  to  insure  the  exclusion  of  the 
vulgar.  No  distinguished  stranger  was  allowed 
to  miss  them.  They  were  beautiful!  They 
were  clad  in  silken  extenuations  from  the  throat 
to  the  feet,  and  wore,  withal,  a  pathos  in  their 
charm  that  gave  them  a  family  likeness  to  in- 
nocence. 

Madame  Delphine,  were  you  not  a  stranger, 


10  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

could  have  told  you  all  about  it ;  though  hardly, 
I  suppose,  without  tears. 

But  at  the  time  of  which  we  would  speak 
(1821-22)  her  day  of  splendor  was  set,  and  her 
husband — let  us  call  him  so  for  her  sake — was 
long  dead.  He  was  an  American,  and,  if  we 
take  her  word  for  it,  a  man  of  noble  heart  and 
extremely  handsome ;  but  this  is  knowledge 
which  we  can  do  without. 

Even  in  those  days  the  house  was  always 
shut,  and  Madame  Delphine's  chief  occupation 
and  end  in  life  seemed  to  be  to  keep  well  locked 
up  in-doors.  She  was  an  excellent  person,  the 
neighbors  said, — a  very  worthy  person;  and 
they  were,  may  be,  nearer  correct  than  they 
knew.  They  rarely  saw  her  save  when  she 
went  to  or  returned  from  church ;  a  small, 
rather  tired-looking,  dark  quadroone  of  very 
good  features  and  a  gentle  thoughtfulness  of 
expression  which  it  would  take  long  to  de- 
scribe :  call  it  a  widow's  look. 

In  speaking  of  Madame  Delphine's  house, 
mention  should  have  been  made  of  a  gate  in 
the  fence  on  the  Royal-street  sidewalk.  It  is 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  11 

gone  now,  and  was  out  of  use  then,  being  fas- 
tened ,once  for  all  by  an  iron  staple  clasping 
the  cross-bar  and  driven  into  the  post. 

Which  leads  us  to  speak  of  another  per- 
son. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CAPITAINE    LEMAITEE. 

HE  was  one  of  those  men  that  might  be  any 
age, — thirty,  forty,  forty-five ;  there  was  no 
telling  from  his  face  what  was  years  and  what 
was  only  weather.  His  countenance  was  of  a 
grave  and  quiet,  but  also  luminous,  sort,  which 
was  instantly  admired  and  ever  afterward  re- 
membered, as  was  also  the  fineness  of  his  hair 
and  the  blueness  of  his  eyes.  Those  pro- 
nounced him  youngest  who  scrutinized  his 
face  the  closest.  But  waiving  the  discussion 
of  age,  he  was  odd,  though  not  with  the  odd- 
ness  that  he  who  reared  him  had  striven  to 
produce. 

He  had  not  been  brought  up  by  mother  or 

father.     He  had  lost  both  in  infancy,  and  had 

fallen  to  the  care  of  a  rugged   old   military 

grandpa  of  the  colonial  school,  whose  unceas- 

12 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  13 

ing  endeavor  had  been  to  make  "  his  boy  "  as 
savage  and  ferocious  a  holder  of  unimpeach- 
able social  rank  as  it  became  a  pure-blooded 
Frencfi  Creole  to  be  who  could  trace  his  pedi- 
gree back  to  the  god  Mars. 

"Kemember,  my  boy,"  was  the  adjuration 
received  by  him  as  regularly  as  his  waking 
cup  of  black  coffee,  "  that  none  of  your  family 
line  ever  kept  the  laws  of  any  government  or 
creed."  And  if  it  was  well  that  he  should  bear 
this  in  mind,  it  was  well  to  reiterate  it  per- 
sistently, for,  from  the  nurse's  arms,  the  boy 
wore  a  look,  not  of  docility  so  much  as  of  gen- 
tle, judicial  benevolence.  The  domestics  of 
the  old  man's  house  used  to  shed  tears  of 
laughter  to  see  that  look  on  the  face  of  a  babe. 
His  rude  guardian  addressed  himself  to  the 
modification  of  this  facial  expression ;  it  had 
not  enough  of  majesty  in  it,  for  instance,  or  of 
large  dare-deviltry  ;  but  with  care  these  could 
be  made  to  come. 

And,  true  enough,  at  twenty-one  (in  Ursin 
Lemaitre),  the  labors  of  his  grandfather  were 
an  apparent  success.  He  was  not  rugged,  nor 


14  MADATVTR  DELPHINE. 

was  he  loud-spoken,  as  his  venerable  trainer 
would  have  liked  to  present  him  to  society; 
but  he  was  as  serenely  terrible  as  a  well-aimed 
rifle,  and  the  old  man  looked  upon  his  results 
with  pride.  He  had  cultivated  him  up  to  that 
pitch  where  he  scorned  to  practice  any  vice, 
or  any  virtue,  that  did  not  include  the  princi- 
ple of  self-assertion.  A  few  touches  only  were 
wanting  here  and  there  to  achieve  perfection, 
when  suddenly  the  old  man  died.  Yet  it  was 
his  proud  satisfaction,  before  he  finally  lay 
down,  to  see  Ursin  a  favored  companion  and 
the  peer,  both  in  courtesy  and  pride,  of  those 
polished  gentlemen  famous  in  history,  the 
brothers  Lafitte. 

The  two  Lafittes  were,  at  the  time  young 
Lemaitre  reached  his  majority  (say  1808  or 
1812),  only  merchant  blacksmiths,  so  to  speak, 
a  term  intended  to  convey  the  idea  of  black- 
smiths who  never  soiled  their  hands,  who  were 
men  of  capital,  stood  a  little  higher  than  the 
clergy,  and  moved  in  society  among  its  auto- 
crats. But  they  were  full  of  possibilities,  men 
of  action,  and  men,  too,  of  thought,  with  al- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  15 

ready  a  pronounced  disbelief  in  the  custom- 
house. In  these  days  of  big  carnivals  they 
would  have  been  patented  as  the  dukes  of  Lit- 
tle Manchac  and  Bar  at  aria. 

Young  Ursin  Lemaitre  (in  full  the  name  was 
Lemaitre-Vignevielle)  had  not  only  the  hearty 
friendship  of  these  good  people,  but  also  a 
natural  turn  for  accounts ;  and  as  his  two 
friends  were  looking  about  them  with  an  en- 
terprising eye,  it  easily  resulted  that  he  pres- 
ently connected  himself  with  the  blacksmith- 
ing  profession.  Not  exactly  at  the  forge  in  the 
Lafittes'  famous  smithy,  among  the  African 
Samsons,  who,  with  their  shining  black  bodies 
bared  to  the  wraist,  made  the  Eue  St.  Pierre 
ring  with  the  stroke  of  their  hammers ;  but  as 
a — there  was  no  occasion  to  mince  the  word  in 
those  days — smuggler. 

Smuggler — patriot — where  was  the  differ- 
ence ?  Beyond  the  ken  of  a  community  tov 
which  the  enforcement  of  the  revenue  laws 
had  long  been  merely  so  much  out  of  every 
man's  pocket  and  dish,  into  the  all-devouring 
treasury  of  Spain.  At  this  date  they  had  come 


16  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

under  a  kinder  yoke,  and  to  a  treasury  that  at 
least  echoed  when  the  customs  were  dropped 
into  it ;  but  the  change  was  still  new.  "What 
could  a  man  be  more  than  Capitaine  Lemaitre^ 
was — the  soul  of  honor,  the  pink  of  courtesy, 
with  the  courage  of  the  lion,  and  the  magna- 
nimity -of  the  elephant ;  frank — the  very  ex- 
chequer of  truth !  Nay,  go  higher  still :  his 
paper  was  good  in  Toulouse  street.  To  the 
gossips  in  the  gaming- clubs  he  was  the  culmi- 
nating proof  that  smuggling  was  one  of  the 
sublimer  virtues. 

Years  went  by.  Events  transpired  which 
have  their  place  in  history.  Under  a  govern- 
ment which  the  community  by  and  by  saw  was 
conducted  in  their  interest,  smuggling  began 
to  lose  its  respectability  and  to  grow  disrepu- 
table, hazardous,  and  debased.  In  certain  on- 
slaughts made  upon  them  by  officers  of  the 
law,  some  of  the  smugglers  became  murderers. 
The  business  became  unprofitable  for  a  time 
until  the  enterprising  Lafittes — thinkers — be- 
thought them  of  a  corrective — "  privateering." 

Thereupon  the  United  States  Government 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  17 

set  a  price  upon  their  heads.  Later  yet  it  be- 
came known  that  these  outlawed  pirates  had 
been  offered  money  and  rank  by  Great  Britain 
if  they  would  join  her  standard,  then  hovering 
about  the  water-approaches  to  their  native 
city,  and  that  they  had  spurned  the  bribe ; 
wherefore  their  heads  were  ruled  out  of  the 
market,  and,  meeting  and  treating  with  Andrew 
Jackson,  they  were  received  as  lovers  of  their 
country,  and  as  compatriots  fought  in  the 
battle  of  New  Orleans  at  the  head  of  their 
fearless  men,  and — here  tradition  takes  up  the 
tale — were  never  seen  afterward. 

Capitaine  Lemaitre  was  not  among  the  killed 
or  wounded,  but  he  was  among  the  missing. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

THBEE     FBIENDS. 

THE  roundest  and  happiest-looking  priest  in 
the"  city  of  New  Orleans  was  a  little  man  fondly 
known  among  his  people  as  Pere  Jerome.  He 
was  a  Creole  and  a  member  of  one  of  the  city's 
leading  families.  His  dwelling  was  a  little 
frame  cottage,  standing  on  high  pillars  just 
inside  a  tall,  close  fence,  and  reached  by  a 
narrow  out-door  stair  from  the  green  batten 
gate.  It  was  well  surrounded  by  crape  myrtles, 
and  communicated  behind  by  a  descending 
stair  and  a  plank-walk  with  the  rear  entrance 
of  the  chapel  over  whose  worshippers  he  daily 
spread  his  hands  in  benediction.  The  name 
of  the  street — ah !  there  is  where  light  is 
wanting.  Save  the  Cathedral  and  the  Ursu- 
lines,  there  is  very  little  of  record  concerning 
churches  at  that  time,  though  they  were 
18 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  19 

springing  up  here  and  there.  All  there  is 
certainty  of  is  that  Pere  Jerome's  frame 
chapel  was  some  little  new-born  "down-town" 
thing,  that  may  have  survived  the  passage  of 
years,  or  may  have  escaped  "Paxton's  Di- 
rectory" "so  as  by  fire."  His  parlor  was 
dingy  and  carpetless ;  one  could  smell  dis- 
tinctly there  the  vow  of  poverty.  His  bed- 
chamber was  bare  and  clean,  and  the  bed  in  it 
narrow  and  hard  ;  but  between  the  two  was  a 
dining-room  that  would  tempt  a  laugh  to  the 
lips  of  any  who  looked  in.  The  table  was 
small,  but  stout,  and  all  the  furniture  of  the 
room  substantial,  made  of  fine  wood,  and  carved 
just  enough  to  give  the  notion  of  wrinkling 
pleasantry.  His  mother's  and  sister's  doing, 
Pere  Jerome  would  explain;  they  would  not 
permit  this  apartment — or  department — to 
suffer.  Therein,  as  well  as  in  the  parlor,  there 
was  odor,  but  of  a  more  epicurean  sort,  that 
explained  interestingly  the  Pere  Jerome's 
rotundity  and  rosy  smile. 

In  this   room,   and    about  this    miniature 
round  table,  used  sometimes  to  sit  with  P6re 


20  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

Jerome  two  friends  to  whom  lie  was  deeply 
attached — one,  Evariste  Yarrillat,  a  playmate 
from  early  childhood,  now  his  brother-in-law ; 
the  other,  Jean  Thompson,  a  companion  from 
youngest  manhood,  and  both,  like  the  little 
priest  himself,  the  regretful  rememberers  of  a 
fourth  comrade  who  was  a  comrade  no  inore. 
Like  Pere  Jerome,  they  had  come,  through 
years,  to  the  thick  of  life's  conflicts, — the 
priest's  brother-in-law  a  physician,  the  other 
an  attorney,  and  brother-in-law  to  the  lonely 
wanderer, — yet  they  loved  to  huddle  around 
this  small  board,  and  be  boys  again  in  heart 
while  men  in  mind.  Neither  one  nor  another 
was  leader.  In  earlier  days  they  had  always 
yielded  to  him  who  no  longer  met  with  them  a 
certain  chieftainship,  and  they  still  thought  of 
him  and  talked  of  him,  and,  in  their  conjec- 
tures, groped  after  him,  as  one  of  whom  they 
continued  to  expect  greater  things  than  of 
themselves. 

They  sat  one  day  drawn  thus  close  together, 
sipping  and  theorizing,  speculating  upon  the 
nature  of  things  in  an  easy,  bold,  sophomoric 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  21 

way,  the  conversation  for  the  most  part  being 
in  French,  the  native  tongue  of  the  doctor  and 
priest,  and  spoken  with  facility  by  Jean 
Thompson  the  lawyer,  who  was  half  Ame- 
ricain;  but  running  sometimes  into  English 
and  sometimes  into  mild  laughter.  Mention 
had  been  made  of  the  absentee. 

Pere  Jerome  advanced  an  idea  something 
like  this : 

"  It  is  impossible  for  any  finite  mind  to  fix 
the  degree  of  criminality  of  any  human  act  or 
of  any  human  life.  The  Infinite  One  alone  can 
know  how  much  of  our  sin  is  chargeable  to  us, 
and  how  much  to  our  brothers  or  our  fathers. 
"We  all  participate  in  one  another's  sins.  There 
is  a  community  of  responsibility  attaching  to 
every  misdeed.  No  human  since  Adam — nay, 
nor  Adam  himself — ever  sinned  entirely  to 
himself.  And  so  I  never  am  called  upon  to 
contemplate  a  crime  or  a  criminal  but  I  feel 
my  conscience  pointing  at  me  as  one  of  the 
accessories." 

"In  a  word,"  said  Evariste  Yarrillat,  the 
physician,  "  you  think  we  are  partly  to  blame 


22  MADAME  DELPHENE. 

for  the  omission  of  many  of  your  Paternosters, 
eh?" 

Father  Jerome  smiled. 

"  No ;  a  man  cannot  plead  so  in  his  own  de- 
fense ;  our  first  father  tried  that,  but  the  plea 
was  not  allowed.  But,  now,  there  is  our  ab- 
sent friend.  I  tell  you  truly  this  whole  com- 
munity ought  to  be  recognized  as  partners  in 
his  moral  errors.  Among  another  people,  rear- 
ed under  wiser  care  and  with  better  compan- 
ions, how  different  might  he  not  have  been ! 
How  can  we  speak  of  him  as  a  law-breaker 
who  might  have  saved  him  from  that  name  ?  " 
Here  the  speaker  turned  to  Jean  Thompson, 
and  changed  his  speech  to  English.  "  A  lady 
sez  to  me  to-day  :  *  Pere  Jerome,  'ow  dat  is  a 
dreadfool  dat  'e  gone  at  de  coas'  of  Cuba  to  be 
one  corsair !  Aint  it  ? '  '  Ah,  Madame,'  I  sez, 
'  'tis  a  terrible  !  I  'ope  de  good  God  will  fo'- 
give  me  an'  you  f o'  dat ! ' ' 

Jean  Thompson  answered  quickly  : 

"You  should  not  have  let  her  say  that." 

"Mais,  to'  w'y?" 

"Why,  because,  if  you  are  partly  respon- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  23 

sible,  yon  ought  so  much,  the  more  to  do 
what  you  can  to  shield  his  reputation.  You. 
should  have  said," — the  attorney  changed 
to  French,  — "  *  He  is  no  pirate ;  he  has 
merely  taken  out  letters  of  marque  and  re- 
prisal under  the  flag  of  the  republic  of  Car- 
thagena ! ' " 

"  Ah,  bah ! "  exclaimed  Doctor  Yarrillat,  and 
both  he  and  his  brother-in-law,  the  priest, 
laughed. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  Thompson. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  physician,  with  a  shrug, 
"  say  id  thad  way  iv  you  wand." 

Then,  suddenly  becoming  serious,  he  was 
about  to  add  something  else,  when  Pere  Je- 
rome spoke. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  could  have  said.  I 
could  have  said:  'Madame,  yes;  'tis  a  ter- 
rible fo'  him.  He  stum'le  in  de  dark;  but 
dat  good  God  will  mek  it  a  mo'  terrible  fo' 
dat  man,  oohever  he  is,  w'at  put  'at  light 
out!'" 

"  But  how  do  you  know  he  is  a  pirate  ?"  de- 
manded Thompson,  aggressively. 


24  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  How  do  we  know  ?  "  said  the  little  priest, 
returning  to  French.  "  Ah  !  there  is  no  other 
explanation  of  the  ninety-and-nine  stories  that 
come  to  us,  from  every  port  where  ships  ar- 
rive from  the  north  coast  of  Cuba,  of  a  com- 
mander of  pirates  there  who  is  a  marvel  of 
courtesy  and  gentility 

"And  whose  name  is  Lafitte,"  said  the  ob- 
stinate attorney. 

"And  who,  nevertheless,  is  not  Lafitte,"  in- 
sisted Pere  Jerome. 

"Daz  troo,  Jean,"  said  Doctor  Varrillat. 
"We  hall  know  daz  troo." 

Pere  Jerome  leaned  forward  over  the  board 
and  spoke,  with  an  air  of  secrecy,  in  French. 

"You  have  heard  of  the  ship  which  came 
into  port  here  last  Monday.  You  have  heard 
that  she  was  boarded  by  pirates,  and  that 
the  captain  of  the  ship  himself  drove  them 
off." 

"An  incredible  story,"  said  Thompson. 

"  But  not  so  incredible  as  the  truth.    I  have 

*  See  Gazettes  of  the  period. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  25 

it  from  a  passenger.  There  was  on  the  ship  a 
young  girl  who  was  very  beautiful.  She  came 
on  deck,  where  the  corsair  stood,  about  to  is- 
sue his  orders,  and,  more  beautiful  than  ever 
in  the  desperation  of  the  moment,  confronted 
him  with  a  small  missal  spread  open,  and,  her 
finger  on  the  Apostles'  Creed,  commanded  him 
to  read.  He  read  it,  uncovering  his  head  as 
he  read,  then  stood  gazing  on  her  face,  which 
did  not  quail ;  and  then,  with  a  low  bow,  said : 
'  Give  me  this  book  and  I  will  do  your  bid- 
ding.' She  gave  him  the  book  and  bade 
him  leave  the  ship,  and  he  left  it  unmo- 
lested." 

Pere  Jerome  looked  from  the  physician  to 
the  attorney  and  back  again,  once  or  twice, 
with  his  dimpled  smile. 

"But  he  speaks  English,  they  say,"  said 
Jean  Thompson. 

"  He  has,  no  doubt,  learned  it  since  he  left 
us,"  said  the  priest. 

"But  this  ship-master,  too,  says  his  men 
called  him  Lafitte." 

"  Lafitte  ?    No.    Do  you  not  see  ?    It  is  your 


26  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

brother-in-law,  Jean  Thompson !  It  is  your 
wife's  brother!  Not  Lafitte,  but"  (softly) 
"  Lemaitre  !  Lemaitre  !  Capitaine  Ursin  Le- 
na aitre  ! " 

The  two  guests  looked  at  each  other  with  a 
growing  drollery  on  either  face,  and  presently 
broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  doctor,  as  the  three  rose  up, 
"you  juz  kip  dad  cog-an'-bull  fo'  yo'  negs 


summon." 


Pere  Jerome's  eyes  lighted  up — 

"Igoin'  to  do  it!" 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Evariste,  turning  upon 
him  with  sudden  gravity,  "  iv  dad  is  troo,  I 
tell  you  w'ad  is  sure-sure !  Ursin  Lemaitre 
din  kyare  nut'n  fo'  doze  creed;  lie  fall  in 
love!" 

Then,  with  a  smile,  turning  to  Jean  Thomp- 
son, and  back  again  to  Pere  Jerome  : 

"  But  anny'ow  you  tell  it  in  dad  summon 
dad  'e  kyare  fo'  dad  creed." 

Pere  Jerome  sat  up  late  that  night,  writing 
a  letter.  The  remarkable  effects  upon  a  cer- 
tain mind,  effects  which  we  shall  presently 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  2? 

find  him  attributing  solely  to  the  influences  of 
surrounding  nature,  may  find  for  some  a  more 
sufficient  explanation  in  the  fact  that  this  let- 
ter was  but  one  of  a  series,  and  that  in  the 
rover  of  doubted  identity  and  incredible  ec- 
centricity Pere  Jerome  had  a  regular  corre- 
spondent. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE  CAP  FITS. 

ABOUT  two  months  after  the  conversation 
just  given,  and  therefore  somewhere  about  the 
Christmas  holidays  of  the  year  1821,  Pere 
Jerome  delighted  the  congregation  of  his  little 
chapel  with  the  announcement  that  he  had 
appointed  to  preach  a  sermon  in  French  on 
the  following  Sabbath — not  there,  but  in  the 
cathedral. 

He  was  much  beloved.  Notwithstanding 
that  among  the  clergy  there  were  two  or  three 
who  shook  their  heads  and  raised  their  eye- 
brows, and  said  he  would  be  at  least  as  ortho- 
dox if  he  did  not  make  quite  so  much  of  the 
Bible  and  quite  so  little  of  the  dogmas,  yet 
"  the  common  people  heard  him  gladly."  When 
told,  one  day,  of  the  unfavorable  whispers,  he 
smiled  a  little  and  answered  his  informant,— 
28 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  29 

whom  he  knew  to  bo  one  of  the  whisperers 
himself, — laying  a  hand  kindly  upon  his  shoul- 
der: 

"Father  Murphy," — or  whatever  the  name 
was, — "  your  words  comfort  me." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  Because — *  Fee  quum  benedixerint  mihi  hom- 
ines!1"* 

The  appointed  morning,  when  it  came,  was 
one  of  those  exquisite  days  in  which  there  is 
such  a  universal  harmony,  that  worship  rises 
from  the  heart  like  a  spring. 

"  Truly,"  said  Pere  Jerome  to  the  compan- 
ion who  was  to  assist  him  in  the  mass,  "  this 
is  a  Sabbath  day  which  we  do  not  have  to 
make  holy,  but  only  to  keep  so." 

May  be  it  was  one  of  the  secrets  of  Pere 
Jerome's  success  as  a  preacher,  that  he  took 
more  thought  as  to  how  he  should  feel,  than 
as  to  what  he  should  say. 

The  cathedral  of  those  days  was  called  a 
very  plain  old  pile,  boasting  neither  beauty 

*  "  Woe  unto  me,  when  all  men  speak  well  of  mel  " 


30  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

nor  riches ;  but  to  Pere  Jerome  it  was  very 
lovely ;  and  before  its  homely  altar,  not  homely 
to  him,  in  the  performance  of  those  solemn 
offices,  symbols  of  heaven's  mightiest  truths, 
in  the  hearing  of  the  organ's  harmonies,  and 
the  yet  more  eloquent  interunion  of  human 
voices  in  the  choir,  in  overlooking  the  wor- 
shipping throng  which  knelt  under  the  soft, 
chromatic  lights,  and  in  breathing  the  sacri- 
ficial odors  of  the  chancel,  he  found  a  deep 
and  solemn  joy;  and  yet  I  guess  the  finest 
thought  of  his  soul  the  while  was  one  that 
came  thrice  and  again : 

"Be  not  deceived,  Pere  Jerome,  because 
saintliness  of  feeling  is  easy  here ;  you  are  the 
same  priest  who  overslept  this  morning,  and 
overate  yesterday,  and  will,  in  some  way,  easily 
go  wrong  to-morrow  and  the  day  after." 

He  took  it  with  him  when — the  Veni  Creator 

sung — he  went  into  the  pulpit.    Of  the  sermon 

'  he  preached,  tradition  has  preserved  for  us 

only  a  few  brief  sayings,  but  they  are  strong 

and  sweet. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,— this  was  near  the 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  31 

beginning, — "  the  angry  words  of  God's  book 
are  very  merciful — they  are  meant  to  drive  us 
home ;  but  the  tender  words,  my  friends,  they 
are  sometimes  terrible  !  Notice  these,  the  ten- 
derest  words  of  the  tenderest  prayer  that  ever 
came  from  the  lips  of  a  blessed  martyr — the 
dying  words  of  the  holy  Saint  Stephen, '  Lord, 
lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge.'  Is  there 
nothing  dreadful  in  that  ?  Bead  it  thus : 
'Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge.'  Not 
to  the  charge  of  them  who  stoned  him  ?  To 
whose  charge  then?  Go  ask  the  holy  Saint 
Paul.  Three  years  afterward,  praying  in  the 
temple  at  Jerusalem,  he  answered  that  ques- 
tion: 'I  stood  by  and  consented.'  He  an- 
swered for  himself  only ;  but  the  Day  must 
come  when  all  that  wicked  council  that  sent 
Saint  Stephen  away  to  be  stoned,  and  all  that 
city  of  Jerusalem,  must  hold  up  the  hand  and 
say:  'We,  also,  Lord — we  stood  by.'  Ah! 
friends,  under  the  simpler  meaning  of  that 
dying  saint's  prayer  for  the  pardon  of  his 
murderers  is  hidden  the  terrible  truth  that 
we  all  have  a  share  in  one  another's  sins." 


32  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

Thus  Pere  Jerome  touched  his  key-note. 
All  that  time  has  spared  us  beside  may  be 
given  in  a  few  sentences. 

"  Ah  ! "  he  cried  once,  "  if  it  were  merely  my 
own  sins  that  I  had  to  answer  for,  I  might 
hold  up  my  head  before  the  rest  of  mankind ; 
but  no,  no,  my  friends — we  cannot  look  each 
other  in  the  face,  for  each  has  helped  the 
other  to  sin.  Oh,  where  is  there  any  room,  in 
this  world  of  common  disgrace,  for  pride? 
Even  if  we  had  no  common  hope,  a  common 
despair  ought  to  bind  us  together  and  forever 
silence  the  voice  of  scornj  " 

And  again,  this : 

"  Even  in  the  promise  to  Noe,  not  again  to 
destroy  the  race  with  a  flood,  there  is  a  whis- 
per of  solemn  warning.  The  moral  account  of 
the  antediluvians  was  closed  off  and  the  bal- 
ance brought  down  in  the  year  of  the  deluge ; 
but  the  account  of  those  who  come  after  runs 
on  and  on,  and  the  blessed  bow  of  promise  it- 
self warns  us  that  God  will  not  stop  it  till  the 
Judgment  Day!  O  God,  I  thank  thee  that 
that  day  must  come  at  last,  when  thou  wilt 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  33 

destroy  the  world,  and  stop  the  interest  on  my 
account ! " 

It  was  about  at  this  point  that  Pere  Jerome 
noticed,  more  particularly  than  he  had  done  be- 
fore, sitting  among  the  worshippers  near  him, 
a  small,  sad-faced  woman,  of  pleasing  features, 
but  dark  and  faded,  who  gave  him  profound 
attention.  With  her  was  another  in  better 
dress,  seemingly  a  girl  still  in  '  her  teens, 
though  her  face  and  neck  were  scrupulously 
concealed  by  a  heavy  veil,  and  her  hands, 
which  were  small,  by  gloves. 

"  Quadroones,"  thought  he,  with  a  stir  of 
deep  pity. 

Once,  as  he  uttered  some  stirring  word,  he 
saw  the  mother  and  daughter  (if  such  they 
were),  while  they  still  bent  their  gaze  upon 
him,  clasp  each  other's  hand  fervently  in  the 
daughter's  lap.  It  was  at  these  words  : 

"  My  friends,  there  are  thousands  of  people 
in  this  city  of  New  Orleans  to  whom  society 
gives  the  ten  commandments  of  God  with  all 
the  nots  rubbed  out !  Ah  !  good  gentlemen !  if 
God  sends  the  poor  weakling  to  purgatory  for 
3 


34  MADAME   DELPHINE.  * 

leaving  the  right  path,  where  ought  some  of  you 
to  go  who  strew  it  with  thorns  and  briers  ! " 

The  movement  of  the  pair  was  only  seen 
because  he  watched  for  it.  He  glanced  that 
way  again  as  he  said  : 

"  O  God,  be  very  gentle  with  those  children 
who  would  be  nearer  heaven  this  day  had 
they  never  had  a  father  and  mother,  but  had 
got  their  religious  training  from  such  a  sky 
and  earth  as  we  have  in  Louisiana  this  holy 
morning !  Ah !  my  friends,  nature  is  a  big- 
print  catechism  ! " 

The  mother  and  daughter  leaned  a  little 
farther  forward,  and  exchanged  the  same  spas- 
modic hand-pressure  as  before.  The  mother's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"I  once  knew  a  man,"  continued  the  little 
priest,  glancing  to  a  side  aisle  where  he  had 
noticed  Evariste  and  Jean  sitting  against  each 
other,  "  who  was  carefully  taught,  from  infancy 
to  manhood,  this  single  only  principle  of  life  : 
defiance.  Not  justice,  not  righteousness,  not 
even  gain ;  but  defiance :  defiance  to  God,  de- 
fiance to  man,  defiance  to  nature,  defiance 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  35 

to  reason;  defiance  and  defiance  and  de- 
fiance." 

"  He  is  going  to  tell  it ! "  murmured  Evariste 
to  Jean. 

"This  man,"  continued  Pere  Jerome,  "be- 
came a  smuggler  and  at  last  a  pirate  in  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico.  Lord,  lay  not  that  sin  to  his 
charge  alone  !  But  a  strange  thing  followed. 
Being  in  command  of  men  of  a  sort  that  to 
control  required  to  be  kept  at  the  austerest 
distance,  he  now  found  himself  separated  from 
the  human  world  and  thrown  into  the  solemn 
companionship  with  the  sea,  with  the  air,  with 
the  storm,  the  calm,  the  heavens  by  day,  the 
heavens  by  night.  My  friends,  that  was  the 
first  time  in  his  life  that  he  ever  found  himself 
in  really  good  company. 

"  Now,  this  man  had  a  great  aptness  for  ac- 
counts. He  had  kept  them — had  rendered 
them.  There  was  beauty,  to  him,  in  a  correct, 
balanced,  and  closed  account.  An  account  un- 
satisfied was  a  deformity.  The  result  is  plain. 
That  man,  looking  out  night  after  night  upon 
the  grand  and  holy  spectacle  of  the  starry 


36  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

deep  above  and  the  watery  deep  below,  was 
sure  to  find  himself,  sooner  or  later,  mastered 
by  the  conviction  that  the  great  Author  of  this 
majestic  creation  keeps  account  of  it ;  and  one 
night  there  came  to  him,  like  a  spirit  walking 
on  the  sea,  the  awful,  silent  question :  vMy  ac- 
count with  God — how  does  it  stand  ? '  Ah  ! 
friends,  that  is  a  question  which  the  book  of 
nature  does  not  answer^/ 

"  Did  I  say  the  book  of  nature  is  a  cate- 
chism ?  Yes.  But,  after  it  answers  the  first 
question  with  'God,'  nothing  but  questions 
follow ;  and  so,  one  day,  this  man  gave  a  ship 
full  of  merchandise  for  one  little  book  which 
answered  those  questions.  God  help  him  to 
understand  it !  and  God  help  you,  monsieur, 
and  you,  madame,  sitting  here  in  your  smug- 
gled clothes,  to  beat  upon  the  breast  with  me 
and  cry,  'I,  too,  Lord — I,  too,  stood  by  and 
consented.' ' 

Pere  Jerome  had  not  intended  these  for  his 
closing  words ;  but  just  there,  straight  away 
before  his  sight  and  almost  at  the  farthest 
door,  a  man  rose  slowly  from  his  seat  and  re- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  37 

garded  him  steadily  with  a  kind,  bronzed,  se- 
date face,  and  the  sermon,  as  if  by  a  sign  of 
command,  was  ended.*  While  the  Credo  was 
being  chanted  he  was  still  there  ;  but  when,  a 
moment  after  its  close,  the  eye  of  Pere  Jerome 
returned  in  that  direction,  his  place  was 
empty. 

As  the  little  priest,  his  labor  done  and  his 
vestments  changed,  was  turning  into  the  Kue 
Royale  and  leaving  the  cathedral  out  of  sight, 
he  just  had  time  to  understand  that  two 
women  were  purposely  allowing  him  to  over- 
take them,  when  the  one  nearer  him  spoke 
in  the  Creole  patois,  saying,  with  some  timid 
haste : 

"Good-morning,  Pere — Pere  Jerome;  Pere 
Jerome,  we  thank  the  good  God  for  that  ser- 
mon." 

"Then,  so  do  I,"  said  the  little  man.  They 
were  the  same  two  that  he  had  noticed  when 
he  was  preaching.  The  younger  one  bowed 
silently ;  she  was  a  beautiful  figure,  but  the 
slight  effort  of  Pere  Jerome's  kind  eyes  to  see 
through  the  veil  was  vain.  He  would  presently 


38  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

have  passed  on,  but  the  one  who  had  spoken 
before  said : 

"  I  thought  you  livecl  in  the  Rue  des  Ursu- 
lines." 

"  Yes ;  I  am  going  this  way  to  see  a  sick 
person." 

The  woman  looked  up  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  confidence  and  timidity. 

"It  must  be  a  blessed  thing  to  be  so  useful 
as  to  be  needed  by  the  good  God,"  she  said. 

Pere  Jerome  smiled : 

"  God  does  not  need  me  to  look  after  his 
sick ;  but  he  allows  me  to  do  it,  just  as  you  let 
your  little  boy  in  frocks  carry  in  chips."  He 
might  have  added  that  he  loved  to  do  it,  quite 
as  much. 

It  was  plain  the  woman  had  somewhat  to 
ask,  and  was  trying  to  get  courage  to  ask 
it. 

"You  have  a  little  boy?"  asked  the  priest. 

"  No,  I  have  only  my  daughter  ; "  she  indi- 
cated the  girl  at  her  side.  Then  she  began  to 
say  something  else,  stopped,  and  with  much 
nervousness  asked : 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  39 

"Pere  Jerome,  what  was  the  name  of  that 
man?" 

"His  name?"  said  the  priest.  "You  wish 
to  know  his  name  ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur"  (or  Miche,  as  she  spoke 
it);  "it  was  such  a  beautiful  story."  The 
speaker's  companion  looked  another  way. 

"His  name,"  said  Father  Jerome, — "some 
say  one  name  and  some  another.  Some  think 
it  was  Jean  Lafitte,  the  famous ;  you  have 
heard  of  him  ?  And  do  you  go  to  my  church, 
Madame ?  " 

"  No,  Miche  ;  not  in  the  past ;  but  from  this 
time,  yes.  My  name" — she  choked  a  little, 
and  yet  it  evidently  gave  her  pleasure  to  offer 
this  mark  of  confidence — "is  Madame  Del- 
phine — Delphine  Carraze." 


CHAPTER  YI. 

A    CRY     OF    DISTRESS. 

JEROME'S  smile  and  exclamation,  as 
some  days  later  lie  entered  his  parlor  in  re- 
sponse to  the  announcement  of  a  visitor,  were 
indicative  of  hearty  greeting  rather  than  sur- 
prise. 

"  Madame  Delphine!" 

Yet  surprise  could  hardly  have  been  alto- 
gether absent,  for  though  another  Sunday  had 
not  yet  come  around,  the  slim,  smallish  figure 
sitting  in  a  corner,  looking  very  much  alone, 
and  clad  in  dark  attire,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  washed  a  trifle  too  often,  was  Delphine 
Carraze  on  her  second  visit.  And  this,  ha 
was  confident,  was  over  and  above  an  attend- 
ance in  the  confessional,  where  he  was  sure  he 
had  recognized  her  voice. 

She  rose  bashfully  and  gave  her  hand,  then 
40 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  41 

looked  to  the  floor,  and  began  a  faltering 
speech,  with  a  swallowing  motion  in  the  throat, 
smiled  weakly  and  commenced  again,  speak- 
ing, as  before,  in  a  gentle,  low  note,  frequently 
lifting  up  and  casting  down  her  eyes,  while 
shadows  of  anxiety  and  smiles  of  apology 
chased  each  other  rapidly  across  her  face. 
She  was  trying  to  ask  his  advice. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  he ;  and  when  they  had 
taken  seats  she  resumed,  with  downcast  eyes  : 

"  You  know, — probably  I  should  have  said 
this  in  the  confessional,  but — " 

"No  matter,  Madame  Delphine ;  I  under- 
stand ;  you  did  not  want  an  oracle,  perhaps ; 
you  want  a  friend." 

She  lifted  her  eyes,  shining  with  tears,  and 
dropped  them  again. 

"I" — she  ceased.  "I  have  done  a" — she 
dropped  her  head  and  shook  it  despondingly— 
"  a  cruel  thing."  The  tears  rolled  from  her 
eyes  as  she  turned  away  her  face. 

Pere  Jerome  remained  silent,  and  presently 
she  turned  again,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
speaking  at  length. 


42  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"It  began  nineteen,  years  ago — by" — her 
eyes,  which  she  had  lifted,  fell  lower  than 
ever,  her  brow  and  neck  were  suffused  with 
blushes,  and  she  murmured — "  I  fell  in  love." 

She  said  no  more,  and  by  and  by  Pere  Je- 
rome replied : 

"Well,  Madame  Delphine,  to  love  is  the 
right  of  every  soul.  I  believe  in  love.  If  your 
love  was  pure  and  lawful  I  am  sure  your  angel 
guardian  smiled  upon  you ;  and  if  it  was  not,  I 
cannot  say  you  have  nothing  to  answer  for, 
and  yet  I  think  God  may  have  said  :  *  She  is  a 
quadroone ;  all  the  rights  of  her  womanhood 
trampled  in  the  mire,  sin  made  easy  to  her — 
almost  compulsory, — charge  it  to  account  of 
whom  it  may  concern." 

"  No,  no  ! "  said  Madame  Delphine,  looking 
up  quickly,  "some  of  it  might  fall  upon— 
Her  eyes  fell,  and  she  commenced  biting  her 
lips  and  nervously  pinching  little  folds  in  her 
skirt.  "He  was  good — as  good  as  the  law 
would  let  him  be — better,  indeed,  for  he  left 
me  property,  which  really  the  strict  law  does 
not  allow.  He  loved  our  little  daughter  very 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  43 

much.  He  wrote  to  his  mother  and  sisters, 
owning  all  his  error  and  asking  them  to  take 
the  child  and  bring  her  up.  I  sent  her  to  them 
when  he  died,  which  was  soon  after,  and  did 
not  see  my  child  for  sixteen  years.  But  we 
wrote  to  each  other  all  the  time,  and  she  loved 
me.  And  then — at  last — "  Madame  Del- 
phine  ceased  speaking,  but  went  on  diligently 
with  her  agitated  fingers,  turning  down  foolish 
hems  lengthwise  of  her  lap. 

"At  last  your  mother-heart  conquered," 
said  Pere  Jerome. 

She  nodded. 

"The  sisters  married,  the  mother  died;  I 
saw  that  even  where  she  was  she  did  not 
escape  the  reproach  of  her  birth  and  blood, 
and  when  she  asked  me  to  let  her  come — ." 
The  speaker's  brimming  eyes  rose  an  instant. 
"I  know  it  was  wicked,  but— I  said,  come." 

The  tears  dripped  through  her  hands  upon 
her  dress. 

"  Was  it  she  who  was  with  you  last  Sun- 
day?" 

"Yes." 


44:  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  And  now  you  do  not  know  what  to  do  with 
her?" 

"Ah!  c'est  fa,  oui! — that  is  it." 

"Does  she  look  like  you,  Madame  Del- 
phine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  God,  no !  you  would  never  be- 
lieve she  was  my  daughter ;  she  is  white  and 
beautiful!" 

"  You  thank  God  for  that  which  is  your  main 
difficulty,  Madame  Delphine." 

"Alas!  yes." 

Pere  Jerome  laid  his  palms  tightly  across 
his  knees  with  his  arms  bowed  out,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  pondering. 

"  I  suppose  she  is  a  sweet,  good  daughter  ?  " 
said  he,  glancing  at  Madame  Delphine  without 
changing  his  attitude. 

Her  answer  was  to  raise  her  eyes  raptu- 
rously. 

"  Which  gives  us  the  dilemma  in  its  fullest 
force,"  said  the  priest,  speaking  as  if  to  the 
floor.  "  She  has  no  more  place  than  if  she  had 
dropped  upon  a  strange  planet."  He  suddenly 
looked  up  with  a  brightness  which  almost  as 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  45 

quickly  passed  away,  and  then  he  looked  down 
again.  His  happy  thought  was  the  cloister ; 
but  he  instantly  said  to  himself :  "  They  can- 
not have  overlooked  that  choice,  except  inten- 
tionally— which  they  have  a  right  to  do."  He 
could  do  nothing  but  shake  his  head. 

"And  suppose  you  should  suddenly  die," 
he  said;  he  wanted  to  get  at  once  to  the 
worst. 

The  woman  made  a  quick  gesture,  and  bur- 
ied her  head  in  her  handkerchief,  with  the 
stifled  cry : 

"  Oh,  Olive,  my  daughter  ! " 

"Well,  Madame  Delphine,"  said  Pere  Je- 
rome, more  buoyantly,  "  one  thing  is  sure  :  we 
must  find  a  way  out  of  this  trouble." 

"  Ah  ! "  she  exclaimed,  looking  heavenward, 
"  if  it  might  be  ! " 

"  But  it  must  be  ! "  said  the  priest. 

"  But  how  shall  it  be  ?  "  asked  the  despond- 
ing woman. 

"Ah!"  said  Pere  Jerome,  with  a  shrug, 
"God  knows." 

"Yes,"  said  the  quadroone,  with  a  quick 


46  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

sparkle  in  her  gentle  eye ;  "  and  I  know,  if  God 
would  tell  anybody,  He  would  tell  you  ! " 

The  priest  smiled  and  rose. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Well,  leave  me  to  think 
of  it.  I  will  ask  Him." 

"And  He  will  tell  you  !"  she  replied.  "And 
He  will  bless  you  ! "  She  rose  and  gave  her 
hand.  As  she  withdrew  it  she  smiled.  "  I  had 
such  a  strange  dream,"  she  said,  backing  to- 
ward the  door. 

"Yes?" 

"  Yes.  I  got  my  troubles  all  mixed  up  with 
your  sermon.  I  dreamed  I  made  that  pirate 
the  guardian  of  my  daughter." 

Pere  Jerome  smiled  also,  and  shrugged. 

"To  you,  Madame  Delphine,  as  you  are 
placed,  every  white  man  in  this  country,  on 
land  or  on  water,  is  a  pirate,  and  of  all  pirates, 
I  think  that  one  is,  without  doubt,  the  best." 

"Without  doubt,"  echoed  Madame  Del- 
phine, wearily,  still  withdrawing  backward. 
Pere  Jerome  stepped  forward  and  opened  the 
door. 

The   shadow  of  some   one   approaching  it 


MADAMF.    DELPHINE.  4:7 

\O  4  ' 

from  without  fell  upon  the  threshold,  and  a 

man  entered,  dressed  in  dark  blue  cottonade, 
lifting  from  his  head  a  fine  Panama  hat,  and 
from  a  broad,  smooth  brow,  fair  where  the  hat 
had  covered  it  and  dark  below,  gently  stroking 
back  his  very  soft,  brown  locks.  Madame  Del- 
phine  slightly  started  aside,  while  Pere  Jerome 
reached  silently,  but  eagerly,  forward,  grasped 
a  larger  hand  than  his  own,  and  motioned  its 
owner  to  a  seat.  Madame  Delphine's  eyes 
ventured  no  higher  than  to  discover  that  the 
shoes  of  the  visitor  were  of  white  duck. 

"  Well,  Pere  Jerome,"  she  said,  in  a  hurried 
under-tone,  "I  am  just  going  to  say  Hail 
Marys  all  the  time  till  you  find  that  out  for 
me!" 

"  Well,  I  hope  that  will  be  soon,  Madame 
Carraze.  Good-day,  Madame  Carraze." 

And  as  she  departed,  the  priest  turned  to 
the  new-comer  and  extended  both  hands,  say- 
ing, in  the  same  familiar  dialect  in  which  he 
had  been  addressing  the  quadroone  : 

"  Well-a-day,  old  playmate  !  After  so  many 
years ! " 


48  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

They  sat  down  side  by  side,  like  husband 
and  wife,  the  priest  playing  with  the  other's 
hand,  and  talked  of  times  and  seasons  past, 
often  mentioning  Evariste  and  often  Jean. 

Madame  Delphine  stopped  short  half-way 
home  and  returned  to  Pere  Jerome's.  His 
entry  door  was  wide  open  and  the  parlor  door 
ajar.  She  passed  through  the  one  and  with 
downcast  eyes  was  standing  at  the  other,  her 
hand  lifted  to  knock,  when  the  door  was  drawn 
open  and  the  white  duck  shoes  passed  out. 
She  saw,  besides,  this  time  the  blue  cottonade 
suit. 

"  Yes,"  the  voice  of  Pere  Jerome  was  saying, 
as  his  face  appeared  in  the  door — "  Ah  !  Ma- 
dame — " 

"  I  lef  my  parasoZ,"  said  Madame  Delphine, 
in  English. 

There  was  this  quiet  evidence  of  a  defiant 
spirit  hidden  somewhere  down  under  her  gen- 
eral timidity,  that,  against  a  fierce  conventional 
prohibition,  she  wore  a  bonnet  instead  of  the 
turban  of  her  caste,  and  carried  a  parasol. 

Pere  Jerome  turned  and  brought  it. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  49 

He  made  a  motion  in  the  direction  in  which 
the  late  visitor  had  disappeared. 

"  Madame  Delphine,  you  saw  dat  man  ?  " 

"Not  his  face." 

"  You  couldn'  billieve  me  iv  I  tell  you  w'at 
dat  man  purpose  to  do  ! " 

"Is  dad  so,  Pere  Jerome  ?  " 

"  He's  goin'  to  hopen  a  bank  ! " 

"Ah!  "said  Madame  Delphine,  seeing  she 
was  expected  to  be  astonished. 

Pere  Jerome  evidently  longed  to  tell  some- 
thing that  was  best  kept  secret ;  he  repressed 
the  impulse,  but  his  heart  had  to  say  some- 
thing. He  threw  forward  one  hand  and  look- 
ing pleasantly  at  Madame  Delphine,  with  his 
lips  dropped  apart,  clenched  his  extended 
hand  and  thrusting  it  toward  the  ground,  said 
in  a  solemn  undertone  : 

"He  is  God's  own  banker,  Madame  Del- 
phine." 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

MICHE  VIGNEVIELLE. 

MADAME  DELPHINE  sold  one  of  the  corner 
lots  of  her  property.  She  had  almost  no  rev- 
enue, and  now  and  then  a  piece  had  to  go.  As 
a  consequence  of  the  sale,  she  had  a  few  large 
bank-notes  sewed  up  in  her  petticoat,  and  one 
day — may  be  a  fortnight  after  her  tearful  in- 
terview with  Pere  Jerome — she  found  it  neces- 
sary to  get  one  of  these  changed  into  small 
money.  She  was  in  the  Rue  Toulouse,  looking 
from  one  side  to  the  other  for  a  bank  which 
was  not  in  that  street  at  all,  when  she  noticed 
a  small  sign  hanging  above  a  door,  bearing  the 
name  "  Vignevielle."  She  looked  in.  Pere 
Jerome  had  told  her  (when  she  had  gone  to 
him  to  ask  where  she  should  apply  for  change) 
that  if  she  could  only  wait  a  few  days,  there 
would  be  a  new  concern  opened  in  Toulouse 
50 


MADAME   DELPHINE.  51 

street, — it  really  seemed  as  if  Vignevielle  was 
the  name,  if  she  could  judge ;  it  looked  to  be, 
and  it  was,  a  private  banker's, — "  U.  L.  Vigne- 
vielle's,"  according  to  a  larger  inscription 
which  met  her  eyes  as  she  ventured  in.  Be- 
hind the  counter,  exchanging  some  last  words 
with  a  busy-mannered  man  outside,  who,  in 
withdrawing,  seemed  bent  on  running  over 
Madame  Delphine,  stood  the  man  in  blue  cot- 
tonade,  whom  she  had  met  in  Pere  Jerome's 
door-way.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  his 
face,  its  strong,  grave,  human  kindness  shining 
softly  on  each  and  every  bronzed  feature.  The 
recognition  was  mutual.  He  took  pains  to 
speak  first,  saying,  in  a  re-assuring  tone,  and 
in  the  language  he  had  last  heard  her  use  : 
"  'Ow  I  kin  serve  you,  Madame  ?  " 
"Iv  you  pliz,  to  mague  dad  bill  change, 
Miche." 

She  pulled  from  her  pocket  a  wad  of  dark 
cotton  handkerchief,  from  which  she  began  to 
untie  the  imprisoned  note.  Madame  Delphine 
had  an  uncommonly  sweet  voice,  and  it  seemed 
so  to  strike  Monsieur  Vignevielle.  He  spoke 


52  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

to  her  once  or  twice  more,  as  lie  waited  on 
Ler,  each  time  in  English,  as  though  he  en- 
joyed the  humble  melody  of  its  tone,  and  pres- 
ently, as  she  turned  to  go,  he  said  : 

"  Madame  Carraze  !  " 

•  She  started  a  little,  but  bethought  herself 
instantly  that  he  had  heard  her  name  in  Pere 
Jerome's  parlor.  The  good  father  might  even 
have  said  a  few  words  about  her  after  her  first 
departure;  he  had  such  an  overflowing  heart. 

"Madame  Carraze,"  said  Monsieur  Vigne- 
vielle,  "doze  kine  of  note- wad  you  'an1  me  juz 
now  is  bein'  contrefit.  You  muz  tek  kyah  from 
doze  kine  of  note.  You  see—  He  drew 
from  his  cash-drawer  a  note  resembling  the  one 
he  had  just  changed  for  her,  and  proceeded  to 
point  out  certain  tests  of  genuineness.  The 
counterfeit,  he  said,  was  so  and  so. 

"  Bud,"  she  exclaimed,  with  much  dismay, 
"  dad  was  de  manner  of  my  bill !  Id  muz  be — 
led  me  see  dad  bill  wad  I  give  you, — if  you 
pliz,  Miche." 

Monsieur  Yignevielle  turned  to  engage  in 
conversation  with  an  employe  and  a  new  vis- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  53 

itor,  and  gave  no  sign  of  hearing  Madame  Del- 
phine's  voice.  She  asked  a  second  time,  with 
like  result,  lingered  timidly,  and  as  he  turned 
to  give  his  attention  to  a  third  visitor,  reite- 
rated : 

"Miche   Yignevielle,   I  wizh  you  pliz   led 


"  Madame  Carraze,"  he  said,  turning  so  sud- 
denly as  to  make  the  frightened  little  woman 
start,  but  extending  his  palm  with  a  show  of 
frankness,  and  assuming  a  look  of  benignant 
patience,  "  'ow  I  kin  fine  doze  note  now,  mongs' 
all  de  rez?  Iv  you  pliz  nod  to  mague  me 
doze  troub'." 

The  dimmest  shadow  of  a  smile  seemed  only 
to  give  his  words  a  more  kindly  authoritative 
import,  and  as  he  turned  away  again  with  a 
manner  suggestive  of  finality,  Madame  Del- 
phine  found  no  choice  but  to  depart.  But  she 
went  away  loving  the  ground  beneath  the  feet 
of  Monsieur  U.  L.  Yignevielle. 

"  Oh,  Pere  Jerome  ! "  she  exclaimed  in  the 
corrupt  French  of  her  caste,  meeting  the  little 
father  on  the  street  a  few  days  later,  "you 


54  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

told  the  truth  that  day  in  your  parlor.  Mo 
conne  li  a  c't  heure.  I  know  him  now ;  he  is 
just  what  you  called  him." 

"  Why  do  you  not  make  him  your  banker, 
also,  Madame  Delphine  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  so  this  very  day ! "  she  re- 
plied, with  more  happiness  in  her  eyes  than 
Pere  Jerome  had  ever  before  seen  there. 

"  Madame  Delphine,"  he  said,  his  own  eyes 
sparkling,  "make  Mm  your  daughter's  guar- 
dian ;  for  myself,  being  a  priest,  it  would  not 
be  best ;  but  ask  him ;  I  believe  he  will  not 
refuse  you." 

Madame  Delphine' s  face  grew  still  brighter 
as  he  spoke. 

"  It  was  in  my  mind,"  she  said 

Yet  to  the  timorous  Madame  Delphine  many 
trifles  became,  one  after  another,  an  impedi- 
ment to  the  making  of  this  proposal,  and  many 
weeks  elapsed  before  further  delay  was  posi- 
tively without  excuse.  But  at  length,  one  day 
in  May,  1822,  in  a  small  private  office  behind 
Monsieur  Yignevielle's  banking-room, — he  sit- 
ting beside  a  table,  and  she,  more  timid  and 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  55 

demure  than  ever,  having  just  taken  a  chair  by 
the  door, — she  said,  trying,  with  a  little  bash- 
ful laugh,  to  make  the  matter  seem  unimpor- 
tant, and  yet  with  some  tremor  of  voice  : 

"Miche  Yignevielle,  I  bin  maguing  my 
will."  (Having  commenced  their  acquaintance 
in  English,  they  spoke  nothing  else.) 

"  'Tis  a  good  idy,"  responded  the  banker. 

"  I  kin  mague  you  de  troub'  to  kib  dad  will 
fo'  me,  Miche  Yignevielle  ?  " 

"Yez." 

She  looked  up  with  grateful  re-assurance ; 
but  her  eyes  dropped  again  as  she  said : 

"  Miche  Yignevielle  —  "  Here  she  choked, 
and  began  her  peculiar  motion  of  laying  folds 
in  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  with  trembling  fin- 
gers. She  lifted  her  eyes,  and  as  they  met  the 
look  of  deep  and  placid  kindness  that  was  in 
his  face,  some  courage  returned,  and  she 
said: 

"Miche." 

"  Wad  you  wand  ?  "  asked  he,  gently. 

"  If  it  arrive  to  me  to  die " 

"Yez?" 


56  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

Her  words  were  scarcely  audible  : 

"I  wand  you  teg  kyah  my  lill'  girl." 

"  You  'ave  one  lill'  gal,  Madame  Carraze  ?  " 

She  nodded  with  her  face  down. 

"An'  you  godd  some  mo'  chillen?" 

"No." 

"  I  nevva  know  dad,  Madame  Carraze.  She's 
a  lill'  small  gal  ?  " 

Mothers  forget  their  daughters'  stature. 
Madame  Delphine  said : 

"Yez." 

For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke,  and  then 
Monsieur  Yignevielle  said : 

"I  will  do  dad." 

"Lag  she  been  you'  h-own?"  asked  the 
mother,  suffering  from  her  own  boldness. 

"  She's  a  good  lill'  chile,  eh  ?  " 

"Miche,  she's  a  lill'  hangel ! "  exclaimed 
Madame  Delphine,  with  a  look  of  distress. 

"Yez;  I  teg  kyah  'v  'er,  lag  my  h-own.  I 
mague  you  dad  promise." 

"But "  There  was  something  still  in 

the  way,  Madame  Delphine  seemed  to  think. 

The  banker  waited  in  silence. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  57 

"I  suppose  you  will  want  to  see  my  lill' 
girl?" 

He  smiled ;  for  she  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
would  implore  him  to  decline. 

"  Oh,  I  tek  you'  word  fo'  hall  dad,  Madame 
Carraze.  It  mague  no  differend  wad  she  loog 
lag;  I  don'  wan'  see  'er." 

Madame  Delphine's  parting  smile — she  went 
very  shortly — was  gratitude  beyond  speech. 

Monsieur  Vignevielle  returned  to  the  seat 
he  had  left,  and  resumed  a  newspaper, — the 
Louisiana  Gazette  in  all  probability, — which 
he  had  laid  down  upon  Madame  Delphine's 
entrance.  His  eyes  fell  upon  a  paragraph 
which  had  previously  escaped  his  notice. 
There  they  rested.  Either  he  read  it  over  and 
over  unwearyingly,  or  he  was  lost  in  thought. 
Jean  Thompson  entered. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  in  a  sup- 
pressed tone,  bending  a  little  across  the  table, 
and  laying  one  palm  upon  a  package  of  papers 
which  lay  in  the  other,  "  it  is  completed.  You 
could  retire  from  your  business  any  day  inside 
of  six  hours  without  loss  to  anybody."  (Both 


58  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

here  and  elsewhere,  let  it  be  understood  that 
where  good  English  is  given  the  words  were 
spoken  in  good  French.) 

Monsieur  Vignevielle  raised  his  eyes  and 
extended  the  newspaper  to  the  attorney,  who 
received  it  and  read  the  paragraph.  Its  sub- 
stance was  that  a  certain  vessel  of  the  navy 
had  returned  from  a  cruise  in  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  and  Straits  of  Florida,  where  she  had 
done  valuable  service  against  the  pirates — 
having,  for  instance,  destroyed  in  one  fort- 
night in  January  last  twelve  pirate  vessels 
afloat,  two  on  the  stocks,  and  three  estab- 
lishments ashore. 

"United  States  brig  Porpoise"  repeated 
Jean  Thompson.  "  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"We  are  acquainted,"  said  Monsieur  Vigne- 
vielle. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SHE. 

A  QUIET  footstep,  a  grave  new  presence  on 
financial  sidewalks,  a  neat  garb  slightly  out  of 
date,  a  gently  strong  and  kindly  pensive  face, 
a  silent  bow,  a  new  sign  in  the  Rue  Toulouse, 
a  lone  figure  with  a  cane,  walking  in  medita- 
tion in  the  evening  light  under  the  willows  of 
Canal  Marigny,  a  long-darkened  window  re- 
lighted in  the  Rue  Conti — these  were  all ;  a 
fall  of  dew  would  scarce  have  been  more  quiet 
..than  was  the  return  of  Ursin  Lemaitre-Vigne- 
vielle  to  the  precincts  of  his  birth  and  early 
life. 

But  we  hardly  give  the  event  its  right  name. 
It  was  Capitaine  Lemaitre  who  had  disap- 
peared ;  it  was  Monsieur  Vignevielle  who  had 
come  back.  The  pleasures,  the  haunts,  the 
companions,  that  had  once  held  out  their 
59 


60  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

charms  to  the  impetuous  youth,  offered  no 
enticements  to  Madame  Delphine's  banker. 
There  is  this  to  be  said  even  for  the  pride  his 
grandfather  had  taught  him,  that  it  had  al- 
ways held  him  above  low  indulgences ;  and 
though  he  had  dallied  with  kings,  queens,  and 
knaves  through  all  the  mazes  of  Faro,  Kon- 
deau,  and  Craps,  he  had  done  it  loftily ;  but 
now  he  maintained  a  peaceful  estrangement 
from  all.  Evariste  and  Jean,  themselves, 
found  him  only  by  seeking. 

"  It  is  the  right  way,"  he  said  to  Pere  Je- 
rome, the  day  we  saw  him  there.  "Ursin 
Lemaitre  is  dead.  I  have  buried  him.  He 
left  a  will.  I  am  his  executor." 

"He  is  crazy,"  said  his  lawyer  brother-in- 
law,  impatiently. 

"  On  the  contr-y,"  replied  the  little  priest, 
"  'e  'as  come  ad  hisse'f." 

Evariste  spoke. 

"Look  at  his  face,  Jean.  Men  with  that 
kind  of  face  are  the  last  to  go  crazy." 

"  You  have  not  proved  that,"  replied  Jean, 
with  an  attorney's  obstinacy.  "You  should 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  61 

have  heard  him  talk  the  other  day  about  that 
newspaper  paragraph.  '  I  have  taken  Ursin 
Lemaitre's  head ;  I  have  it  with  me ;  I  claim 
the  reward,  but  I  desire  to  commute  it  to  citi- 
zenship/ He  is  crazy." 

Of  course  Jean  Thompson  did  not  believe 
what  he  said ;  but  he  said  it,  and,  in  his  vexa- 
tion, repeated  it,  on  the  banquettes  and  at  the 
clubs  ;  and  presently  it  took  the  shape  of  a  sly 
rumor,  that  the  returned  rover  was  a  trifle 
snarled  in  his  top-hamper. 

This  whisper  was  helped  into  circulation  by 
many  trivial  eccentricities  of  manner,  and  by 
the  unaccountable  oddness  of  some  of  his 
transactions  in  business. 

"  My  dear  sir  ! "  cried  his  astounded  lawyer, 
one  day,  "  you  are  not  running  a  charitable  in- 
stitution ! " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  said  Monsieur  Vig- 
nevielle.  '  There  the  conversation  ceased. 

"  Why  do  you  not  found  hospitals  and  asy- 
lums at  once,"  asked  the  attorney,  at  another 
time,  with  a  vexed  laugh,  "  and  get  the  credit 
of  it?" 


62  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  And  make  the  end  worse  than  the  begin- 
ning," said  the  banker,  with  a  gentle  smile, 
turning  away  to  a  desk  of  books. 

"  Bah  !  "  muttered  Jean  Thompson. 

Monsieur  Yignevielle  betrayed  one  very  bad 
symptom.  Wherever  he  went  he  seemed  look- 
ing for  somebody.  It  may  have  been  percep- 
tible only  to  those  who  were  sufficiently  inter- 
ested in  him  to  study  his  movements ;  but 
those  who  saw  it  once  saw  it  always.  He 
never  passed  an  open  door  or  gate  but  he 
glanced  in ;  and  often,  where  it  stood  but 
slightly  ajar,  you  might  see  him  give  it  a  gen- 
tle push  with  his  hand  or  cane.  It  was  very- 
singular. 

He  walked  much  alone  after  dark.  The 
guicMnangoes  (garroters,  we  might  say),  at 
those  times  the  city's  particular  terror  by 
night,  never  crossed  his  path.  He  was  one  of 
those  men  for  whom  danger  appears  to  stand 
aside. 

One  beautiful  summer  night,  when  all  na- 
ture seemed  hushed  in  ecstasy,  the  last  blush 
gone  that  told  of  the  sun's  parting,  Monsieur 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  63 

Vignevielle,  in  the  course  of  one  of  those  con- 
templative, uncompanioned  walks  which  it 
was  his  habit  to  take,  came  slowly  along  the 
more  open  portion  of  the  Rue  Royale,  with  a 
step  which  was  soft  without  intention,  occa- 
sionally touching  the  end  of  his  stout  cane 
gently  to  the  ground  and  looking  upward 
among  his  old  acquaintances,  the  stars. 

It  was  one  of  those  southern  nights  under 
whose  spell  all  the  sterner  energies  of  the 
mind  cloak  themselves  and  lie  down  in  biv- 
ouac, and  the  fancy  and  the  imagination,  that 
cannot  sleep,  slip  their  fetters  and  escape, 
beckoned  away  from  behind  every  flowejdng 
bush  and  sweet-smelling  tree,  and  every 
stretch  of  lonely,  half-lighted  walk,  by  the 
genius  of  poetry.  The  air  stirred  softly  now 
and  then,  and  was  still  again,  as  if  the  breezes 
lifted  their  expectant  pinions  and  lowered 
them  once  more,  awaiting  the  rising  of  the 
moon  in  a  silence  which  fell  upon  the  fields, 
the  roads,  the  gardens,  the  walls,  and  the  sub- 
urban and  half-suburban  streets,  like  a  pause 
in  worship.  And  anon  she  rose. 


64  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

Monsieur  Vignevielle's  steps  were  bent  to- 
ward-the  more  central  part  of  the  town,  and 
he  was  presently  passing  along  a  high,  close, 
board-fence,  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the 
way,  when,  just  within  this  inclosure,  and  al- 
most overhead,  in  the  dark  boughs  of  a  large 
orange-tree,  a  mocking-bird  began  the  first 
low  flute-notes  of  his  all-night  song.  It  may 
have  been  only  the  nearness  of  the  songster 
that  attracted  the  passer's  attention,  but  he 
paused  and  looked  up. 

And  then  he  remarked  something  more, — 
that  the  air  where  he  had  stopped  was  filled 
with  the  overpowering  sweetness  of  the  night- 
jasmine.  He  looked  around ;  it  could  only  be 
inside  the  fence.  There  was  a  gate  just  there. 
Would  he  push  it,  as  his  wont  was?  The 
grass  was  growing  about  it  in  a  thick  turf,  as 
though  the  entrance  had  not  been  used  for 
years.  An  iron  staple  clasped  the  cross-bar, 
and  was  driven  deep  into  the  gate-post.  But 
now  an  eye  that  had  been  in  the  blacksmith- 
ing  business — an  eye  which  had  later  received 
high  training  as  an  eye  for  fastenings — fell 


MADAME   DELPHINE.  65 

upon  that  staple,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  the 
wood  had  shrunk  from  it,  and  it  had  sprung 
from  its  hold,  though  without  falling  out.  The 
strange  habit  asserted  itself ;  he  laid  his  large 
hand  upon  the  cross-bar ;  the  turf  at  the  base 
yielded,  and  the  tall  gate  was  drawn  partly 
open. 

At  that  moment,  as  at  the  moment  whenever 
he  drew  or  pushed  a  door  or  gate,  or  looked 
in  at  a  window,  he  was  thinking  of  one,  the 
image  of  whose  face  and  form  had  never  left 
his  inner  vision  since  the  day  it  had  met  him 
in  his  life's  path  and  turned  him  face  about 
from  the  way  of  destruction. 

The  bird  ceased.  The  cause  of  the  interrup- 
tion, standing  within  the  opening,  saw  before 
him,  much  obscured  by  its  own  numerous 
shadows,  a  broad,  ill-kept,  many-flowered  gar- 
den, among  whose  untrimmed  rose-trees  and 
tangled  vines,  and  often,  also,  in  its  old  walks 
of  pounded  shell,  the  coco-grass  and  crab- 
grass  had  spread  riotously,  and  sturdy  weeds 
stood  up  in  bloom.  He  stepped  in  and  drew 
the  gate  to  after  him.  There,  very  near  by, 


66  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

was  the  clump  of  jasmine,  whose  ravishing 
odor  had  tempted  him.  It  stood  just  beyond 
a  brightly  moonlit  path,  which  turned  from' 
him  in  a  curve  toward  the  residence,  a  little 
distance  to  the  right,  and  escaped  the  view  at 
a  point  where  it  seemed  more  than  likely  a 
door  of  the  house  might  open  upon  it.  While 
he  still  looked,  there  fell  upon  his  ear,  from 
around  that  curve,  a  light  footstep  on  the 
broken  shells, — one  only,  and  then  all  was  for 
a  moment  still  again.  Had  he  mistaken  ?  No. 
The  same  soft  click  was  repeated  nearer  by,  a 
pale  glimpse  of  robes  came  through  the  tan- 
gle, and  then,  plainly  to  view,  appeared  an 
outline — a  presence — a  form — a  spirit — a  girl ! 
From  throat  to  instep  she  was  as  white  as 
Cynthia.  Something  above  the  medium  height, 
slender,,  lithe,  her  abundant  hair  rolling  in 
dark,  :rich  waves  back  from  her  brows  and 
down  from  her  crown,  and  falling  in  two  heavy 
plaits  beyond  her  round,  broadly  girt  waist 
and  full  to  her  knees,  a  few  escaping  locks 
eddying  lightly  on  her  graceful  neck  and  her 
temples, — her  arms,  half  hid  in  a  snowy  mist 


MADAME  DELPHIKE.  67 

of  sleeve,  let  down  to  guide  her  spotless  skirts 
free  from  the  dewy  touch  of  the  grass, — 
straight  down  the  path  she  came ! 

Will  she  stop  V  Will  she  turn  aside  ?  Will 
she  espy  the  dark  form  in  the  deep  shade  of 
the  orange,  and,  with  one  piercing  scream, 
wheel  and  vanish  ?  She  draws  near.  She  ap- 
proaches the  jasmine ;  she  raises  her  arms, 
the  sleeves  falling  like  a  vapor  down  to  the 
shoulders ;  rises  upon  tiptoe,  and  plucks  a 
spray.  O  Memory  !  Can  it  be  ?  Can  it  be  ? 
Is  this  his  quest,  or  is  it  lunacy  ?  The  ground 
seems  to  M.  Yignevielle  the  unsteady  sea,  and 
he  to  stand  once  more  on  a  deck.  And  she  ? 
As  she  is  now,  if  she  but  turn  toward  the 
orange,  the  whole  glory  of  the  moon  will  shine 
upon  her  face.  His  heart  stands  si^iH ;  he  is 
waiting  for  her  to  do  that.  She  reaches  up 
again  ;  this  time  a  bunch  for  her  mother.  That 
neck  and  throat !  Now  she  fastens  a  spray  in 
her  hair.  The  mocking-bird  cannot  withhojd  ; 
he  breaks  into  song — she  turns— she  turns  her 
face — it  is  she,  it  is  she  !  Madame  Delphine's 
daughter  is  the  girl  he  met  on  the  ship. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

OLIVE. 

SHE  was  just  passing  seventeen — that  beau- 
tiful year  when  the  heart  of  the  maiden  still 
beats  quickly  with  the  surprise  of  her  new 
dominion,  while  with  gentle  dignity  her  brow 
accepts  the  holy  coronation  of  womanhood. 
The  forehead  and  temples  beneath  her  loosely 
bound  hair  were  fair  without  paleness,  and 
meek  without  languor.  She  had  the  soft,  lack- 
lustre beauty  of  the  South ;  no  ruddiness  of 
coral,  no  waxen  white,  no  pink  of  shell ;  no 
heavenly  blue  in  the  glance ;  but  a  face  that 
seemed,  in  all  its  other  beauties,  only  a  tender 
accompaniment  for  the  large,  brown,  melting 
eyes,  where  the  openness  of  child-nature  min- 
gled dreamily  with  the  sweet  mysteries  of 
maiden  thought.  We  say  no  color  of  shell  on 
face  or  throat;  but  this  was  no  deficiency, 
68 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  69 

that  which  took  its  place  being  the  warm, 
transparent  tint  of  sculptured  ivory. 

This  side  door-way  which  led  from  Madame 
Delphine' s  house  into  her  garden  was  over- 
arched partly  by  an  old  remnant  of  vine-cov- 
ered lattice,  and  partly  by  a  crape-myrtle, 
against  whose  small,  polished  trunk  leaned  a 
rustic  seat.  Here  Madame  Delphine  and  Olive 
loved  to  sit  when  the  twilights  were  balmy  or 
the  moon  was  bright. 

"  Cherie"  said  Madame  Delphine  on  one  of 
these  evenings,  "why  do  you  dream  so 
much?" 

She  spoke  in  the  patois  most  natural  to 
her,  and  which  her  daughter  had  easily 
learned. 

The  girl  turned  her  face  to  her  mother,  and 
smiled,  then  dropped  her  glance  to  the  hands 
in  her  own  lap,  which  were  listlessly  handling 
the  end  of  a  ribbon.  The  mother  looked  at 
her  with  fond  solicitude.  Her  dress  was  white 
again ;  this  was  but  one  night  since  that  in 
which  Monsieur  Vignevielle  had  seen  her  at 
the  bush  of  night-jasmine.  He  had  not  been 


70  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

discovered,  but  had  gone  away,  shutting  the 
gate,  and  leaving  it  as  he  had  found  it. 

Her  head  was  uncovered.  Its  plaited  masses, 
quite  black  in  the  moonlight,  hung  down  and 
coiled  upon  the  bench,  by  her  side.  Her  chaste 
drapery  was  of  that  revived  classic  order  which 
the  world  of  fashion  was  again  laying  aside  to 
re-assume  the  mediaeval  bondage  of  the  stay- 
lace  ;  for  New  Orleans  was  behind  the  fash- 
ionable world,  and  Madame  Delphine  and  her 
daughter -were  behind  New  Orleans.  A  deli- 
cate scarf,  pale  blue,  of  lightly  netted  worsted, 
fell  from  either  shoulder  down  beside  her 
hands.  The  look  that  was  bent  upon  her 
changed  perforce  to  one  of  gentle  admiration. 
She  seemed  the  goddess  of  the  garden. 

Olive  glanced  up.  Madame  Delphine  was 
not  prepared  for  the  movement,  and  on  that 
account  repeated  her  question  : 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?" 

The  dreamer  took  the  hand  that  was  laid 
upon  hers  between  her  own  palms,  bowed  her 
head,  and  gave  them  a  soft  kiss. 

The  mother  submitted.     Wherefore,  in  the 


MADAME   DELPHINE.  71 

silence  which  followed,  a  daughter's  conscience 
felt  the  burden  of  having  withheld  an  answer, 
and  Olive  presently  said,  as  the  pair  sat  look- 
ing up  into  the  sky  : 

"I  was  thinking  of  Pere  Jerome's  sermon." 
Madame  Delphine  had  feared  so.  Olive  had 
lived  on  it  ever  since  the  day  it  was  preached. 
The  poor  mother  was  almost  ready  to  repent 
having  ever  afforded  her  the  opportunity  of 
hearing  it.  Meat  and  drink  had  become  of 
secondary  value  to  her  daughter;  she  fed 
upon  the  sermon. 

Olive  felt  her  mother's  thought  and  knew 

that  her  mother  knew  her  own ;  but  now  that 

she  had  confessed,  she  would  ask  a  question : 

"Do  you  think,  maman,  that  Pere  Jerome 

knows  it  was  I  who  gave  that  missal  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Madame  Delphine,  "I  am  sure 
he  does  not." 

Another  question  came  more  timidly  : 
"  Do — do  you  think  he  knows  him  ?  " 
"Yes,   I   do.     He  said   in  his   sermon   he 
did." 

Both  remained  for  a  long  time  very  still, 


72  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

watching  the  moon  gliding  in  and  through 
among  the  small  dark-and-white  clouds.  At 
last  the  daughter  spoke  again. 

"  I  wish  I  was  Pere — I  wish  I  was  as  good 
as  Pere  Jerome." 

"  My  child,"  said  Madame  Delphine,  her  tone 
betraying  a  painful  summoning  of  strength  to 
say  what  she  had  lacked  the  courage  to  utter, 
— "  my  child,  I  pray  the  good  God  you  will 
not  let  your  heart  go  after  one  whom  you  may 
never  see  in  this  world  ! " 

The  maiden  turned  her  glance,  and  their 
eyes  met.  She  cast  her  arms  about  her  moth- 
er's neck,  laid  her  cheek  upon  it  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  feeling  the  maternal  tear,  lifted  her 
lips,  and,  kissing  her,  said : 

"  I  will  not !     I  will  not ! " 

But  the  voice  was  one,  not  of  willing  con- 
sent, but  of  desperate  resolution. 

"It  would  be  useless,  anyhow,"  said  the 
mother,  laying  her  arm  around  her  daughter's 
waist. 

Olive  repeated  the  kiss,  prolonging  it  pas- 
sionately. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  73 

"I  have  nobody  but  you,"  murmured  the 
girl ;  "  I  am  a  poor  quadroone  ! " 

She  threw  back  her  plaited  hair  for  a  third 
embrace,  when  a  sound  in  the  shrubbery  start- 
led them. 

"  Qui  ci  fa  ?  "  called  Madame  Delphine,  in  a 
frightened  voice,  as  the  two  stood  up,  holding 
to  each  other. 

No  answer. 

"  It  was  only  the  dropping  of  a  twig,"  she 
whispered,  after  a  long  holding  of  the  breath. 
But  they  went  into  the  house  and  barred  it 
everywhere. 

It  was  no  longer  pleasant  to  sit  up.  They 
retired,  and  in  course  of  time,  but  not  soon, 
they  fell  asleep,  holding  each  other  very  tight, 
and  fearing,  even  in  their  dreams,  to  hear 
another  twig  fall. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

BIRDS. 

MONSIEUR  VIGNEYIELLE  looked  in  at  no  more 
doors  or  windows ;  but  if  the  disappearance  of 
this  symptom  was  a  favorable  sign,  others 
came  to  notice  which  were  especially  bad, — • 
for  instance,  wakefulness.  At  well-nigh  any 
hour  of  the  night,  the  city  guard,  which  itself 
dared  not  patrol  singly,  would  meet  him  on 
his  slow,  unmolested,  sky-gazing  walk. 

"  Seems  to  enjoy  it,"  said  Jean  Thompson ; 
"the  worst  sort  of  evidence.  If  he  showed 
distress  of  mind,  it  would  not  be  so  bad ;  but 
his  calmness, — ugly  feature." 

The  attorney  had  held  his  ground  so  long 
that  he  began  really  to  believe  it  was  tenable. 

By  day,  it  is  true,  Monsieur  Vignevielle  was 
at  his  post  in  his  quiet  "bank."  Yet  here, 
day  by  day,  he  was  the  source  of  more  and 
74 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  75 

more  vivid  astonishment  to  those  who  held 
preconceived  notions  of  a  banker's  calling.  As 
a  banker,  at  least,  he  was  certainly  out  of  bal- 
ance ;  while  as  a  promenader,  it  seemed  to 
those  who  watched  him  that  his  ruling  idea 
had  now  veered  about,  and  that  of  late  he  was 
ever  on  the  quiet  alert,  not  to  find,  but  to 
evade,  somebody. 

"  Olive,  my  child,"  whispered  Madame  Del- 
phine  one  morning,  as  the  pair  were  kneeling 
side  by  side  on  the  tiled  floor  of  the  church, 
"  yonder  is  Miche  Yignevielle !  If  you  will 
only  look  at  once — he  is  just  passing  a  little 

in .  Ah,  much  too  slow  again ;  he  stepped 

out  by  the  side  door." 

The  mother  thought  it  a  strange  providence 
that  Monsieur  Vignevielle  should  always  be 
disappearing  whenever  Olive  was  with  her. 

One  early  dawn,  Madame  Delphine,  with  a 
small  empty  basket  on  her  arm,  stepped  out 
upon  the  banquette  in  front  of  her  house,  shut 
and  fastened  the  door  very '  softly,  and  stole 
out  in  the  direction  whence  you  could  faintly 
catch,  in  the  stillness  of  the  daybreak,  the 


76  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

songs  of  the  Gascon  butchers  and  the  pound- 
ing of  their  meat-axes  on  the  stalls  of  the  dis- 
tant market-house.  She  was  going  to  see  if 
she  could  find  some  birds  for  Olive, — the 
child's  appetite  was  so  poor ;  and,  as  she  was 
out,  she  would  drop  an  early  prayer  at  the 
cathedral.  Faith  and  works. 

"One  must  venture  something,  sometimes, 
in  the  cause  of  religion,"  thought  she,  as  she 
started  timorously  on  her  way.  But  she  had 
not  gone  a  dozen  steps  before  she  repented 
her  temerity.  There  was  some  one  behind  her. 

There  should  not  be  anything  terrible  in  a 
footstep  merely  because  it  is  masculine ;  but 
Madame  Delphine's  mind  was  not  prepared  to 
consider  that.  A  terrible  secret  was  haunting 
her.  Yesterday  morning  she  had  found  a 
shoe- track  in  the  garden.  She  had  not  dis- 
closed the  discovery  to  Olive,  but  she  had 
hardly  closed  her  eyes  the  whole  night. 

The  step  behind  her  now  might  be  the  fall 
of  that  very  shoe.  She  quickened  her  pace, 
but  did  not  leave  the  sound  behind.  She  hur- 
ried forward  almost  at  a  run ;  yet  it  was  still 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  77 

there — no  farther,  no  nearer.  Two  frights 
were  upon  her  at  once — one  for  herself,  anoth- 
er for  Olive,  left  alone  in  the  house ;  but  she 
had  but  the  one  prayer — "God  protect  my 
child ! "  After  a  fearful  time  she  reached  a 
place  of  safety,  the  cathedral.  There,  panting, 
she  knelt  long  enough  to  know  the  pursuit 
was,  at  least,  suspended,  and  then  arose,  hop- 
ing and  praying  all  the  saints  that  she  might 
find  the  way  clear  for  her  return  in  all  haste 
to  Olive. 

She  approached  a  different  door  from  that 
by  which  she  had  entered,  her  eyes  in  all 
directions  and  her  heart  in  her  throat. 

"Madame  Carraze." 

She  started  wildly  and  almost  screamed, 
though  the  voice  was  soft  and  mild.  Monsieur 
Vignevielle  came  slowly  forward  from  the 
shade  of  the  wall.  They  met  beside  a  bench, 
upon  which  she  dropped  her  basket. 

"Ah,  Miche  Vignevielle,  I  thang  de  good 
God  to  mid  you  ! " 

"  Is  dad  so,  Madame  Carraze  ?  Fo'  w'y  dad 
is?" 


78  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  A  man  was  chase  me  all  dad  way  since  my 
'ouse ! 

"  Yes,  Madame,  I  sawed  him." 

"  You  sawed  'im  ?     Oo  it  was  ?  " 

"  'Twas  only  one  man  wad  is  a  foolizh.  De 
people  say  he's  crezzie.  Mais,  he  don'  goin' 
to  meg  you  no  'arm." 

"  But  I  was  scare'  fo'  my  lill'  girl." 

"  Noboddie  don'  goin'  trouble  you'  lill'  gal, 
Madame  Carraze." 

Madame  Delphine  looked  up  into  the  speak- 
er's strangely  kind  and  patient  eyes,  and  drew 
sweet  re-assurance  from  them. 

"  Madame,"  said  Monsieur  Vignevielle,  "  wad 
pud  you  hout  so  nearly  dis  morning  ?  " 

She  told  him  her  errand.  She  asked  if  he 
thought  she  would  find  anything. 

"  Yez,"  he  said,  "  it  was  possible — a  few  lill' 
becassines-de-mer,  ou  somezin'  ligue.  But  fo' 
w'y  you  lill'  gal  lose  doze  hapetide  ?  " 

"Ah,  Miche," — Madame  Delphine  might 
have  tried  a  thousand  times  again  without  ever 
succeeding  half  so  well  in  lifting  the  curtain 
upon  the  whole,  sweet,  tender,  old,  old-fash- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  79 

ioned  truth,  —  "Ah,  Miche,  she  wone  tell 
me!" 

"  Bud,  anny'ow,  Madame,  wad  you  thing  ?  " 

"  Miche,"  she  replied,  looking  up  again  with 
a  tear  standing  in  either  eye,  and  then  looking 
down  once  more  as  she  began  to  speak,  "I 
thing — I  thing  she's  lonesome." 

"  You  thing  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"Ah !  Madame  Carraze,"  he  said,  partly  ex- 
tending his  hand,  "  you  see  ?  'Tis  impossible 
to  mague  you'  owze  shud  so  tighd  to  priv-en 
dad.  Madame,  I  med  one  mizteg." 

"  Ah,  non,  Miche  !  " 

"  Yez.  There  har  nod  one  poss'bil'ty  fo'  me 
to  be  dad  guardian  of  you'  daughteh  ! " 

Madame  Delphine  started  with  surprise  and 
alarm. 

"  There  is  ondly  one  wad  can  be,"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"But  oo,  Miche?" 

"  God." 

"Ah,  Miche  Vignevielle "  She  looked 

at  him  appealingly. 


80  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  I  don'  goin'  to  dizzerd  you,  Madame  Car- 
raze,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  eyes.  They  filled.  She  shook 
her  head,  a  tear  fell,  she  bit  her  lip,  smiled, 
and  suddenly  dropped  her  face  into  both  hands, 
sat  down  upon  the  bench  and  wept  until  she 
shook. 

"You  dunno  wad  I  mean,  Madame  Car- 
raze?" 

She  did  not  know. 

"I  mean  dad  guardian  of  you'  daughteh 
godd  to  fine  'er  now  one  'uzban' ;  an'  noboddie 
are  hable  to  do  dad  egceb  de  good  God  'imsev. 
But,  Madame,  I  tell  you  wad  I  do." 

She  rose  up.     He  continued  : 

"  Go  h-open  you'  owze  ;  I  fin'  you'  daughteh 
dad'  uzban'." 

Madame  Delphine  was  a  helpless,  timid 
thing ;  but  her  eyes  showed  she  was  about  to 
resent  this  offer.  Monsieur  Yignevielle  put 
forth  his  hand — it  touched  her  shoulder — and 
said,  kindly  still,  and  without  eagerness. 

"  One  w'ite  man,  Madame  ;  'tis  prattycabble. 
I  know  'tis  prattycabble.  One  w'ite  jantleman, 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  81 

Madame.  You  can  truz  me.  I  goin'  fedge  'im. 
H-ondly  you  go  h-open  you'  owze." 

Madame  Delphine  looked  down,  twining  her 
handkerchief  among  her  fingers. 

He  repeated  his  proposition. 

"  You  will  come  firz  by  you'se'f  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Iv  you  wand." 

She  lifted  up  once  more  her  eye  of  faith. 
That  was  her  answer. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  wan'  sen'  some 
bird  ad  you'  lilT  gal." 

And  they  went  away,  Madame  Delphine's 
spirit  grown  so  exaltedly  bold  that  she  said  as 
they  went,  though  a  violent  blush  followed  her 
words : 

"Miche  Yignevielle,  I  thing  Pere  Jerome 
mighd  be  ab'e  to  tell  you  someboddie." 


CHAPTEE  XL 

FACE  TO  FACE. 

MADAME  DELPHINE  found  her  house  neither 
burned  nor  rifled. 

"  Ah  !  ma  piti  sans  popa !  Ah  !  my  little 
fatherless  one  !  "  Her  faded  bonnet  fell  back 
between  her  shoulders,  hanging  on  by  the 
strings,  and  her  dropped  basket,  with  its  "  few 
HIT  becassiTies-de-mer "  dangling  from  the  han- 
dle, rolled  out  its  okra  and  soup-joint  upon 
the  floor.  "  Ma  piti  !  kiss  ! — kiss ! — kiss ! " 

"  But  is  it  good  news  you  have,  or  bad  ? " 
cried  the  girl,  a  fourth  or  fifth  time. 

"Dieu  salt,  ma  c'ere;  mo  pas  conne  !  " — God 
knows,  my  darling ;  I  cannot  tell ! 

The  mother  dropped  into  a   chair,  covered 
her  face  with  her  apron,  and  burst  into  tears, 
then  looked  up  with  an  effort  to  smile,  and 
wept  afresh. 
82 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  83 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  asked  the 
daughter,  in  a  long-drawn,  fondling  tone.  She 
leaned  forward  and  unfastened  her  mother's 
bonnet-strings.  "  Why  do  you  cry  ?  " 

"  For  nothing  at  all,  my  darling ;  for  nothing 
— I  am  such  a  fool." 

The  girl's  eyes  filled.  The  mother  looked 
up  into  her  face  and  said : 

"No,   it  is   nothing,  nothing,  only   that — 
turning  her  head  from  side  to  side  with  a  slow, 
emotional  emphasis,  "  Miche  Yignevielle  is  the 
best — best  man  on  the  good  Lord's  earth !  " 

Olive  drew  a  chair  close  to  her  mother,  sat 
down  and  took  the  little  yellow  hands  into  her 
own  white  lap,  and  looked  tenderly  into  her 
eyes.  Madame  Delphine  felt  herself  yield- 
ing ;  she  must  make  a  show  of  telling  some- 
thing : 

"  He  sent  you  those  birds  !  " 

The  girl  drew  her  face  back  a  little.  The 
little  woman  turned  away,  trying  in  vain  to  hide 
her  tearful  smile,  and  they  laughed  together, 
Olive  mingling  a  daughter's  fond  kiss  with  her 
laughter. 


84  MADAME  DELPHINE.      . 

"There  is  something  else,"  she  said,  "and 
you  shall  tell  me." 

"Yes,"  replied  Madame  Delphine,  "only  let 
me  get  composed." 

But  she  did  not  get  so.  Later  in  the  morn- 
ing she  came  to  Olive  with  the  timid  yet  start- 
ling proposal  that  they  would  do  what  they 
could  to  brighten  up  the  long-neglected  front 
room.  Olive  was  mystified  and  troubled,  but 
consented,  and  thereupon  the  mother's  spirits 
rose. 

The  work  began,  and  presently  ensued  all 
the  thumping,  the  trundling,  the  lifting  and  let- 
ting down,  the  raising  and  swallowing  of  dust, 
and  the  smells  of  turpentine,  brass,  pumice  and 
woollen  rags  that  go  to  characterize  a  house- 
keeper's emeute;  and  still,  as  the  work  pro- 
gressed, Madame  Delphine's  heart  grew  light, 
and  her  little  black  eyes  sparkled. 

"  We  like  a  clean  parlor,  my  daughter,  even 
though  no  one  is  ever  coming  to  see  us,  eh  ?  " 
she  said,  as  entering  the  apartment  she  at  last 
sat  down,  late  in  the  afternoon.  She  had  put  on 
her  best  attire. 


MADAMS  DELPHINE.  85 

Olive  was  not  there  to  reply.  The  mother 
called  but  got  no  answer.  She  rose  with  an 
uneasy  heart,  and  met  her  a  few  steps  beyond 
the  door  that  opened  into  the  garden,  in  a  path 
which  came  up  from  an  old  latticed  bower. 
Olive  was  approaching  slowly,  her  face  pale 
and  wild.  There  was  an  agony  of  hostile  dis- 
may in  the  look,  and  the  trembling  and  appeal- 
ing tone  with  which,  taking  the  frightened 
mother's  cheeks  between  her  palms,  she  said : 

"  Ah  !  ma  mere,  qui  vini  'ci  ce  sair  ?  " — Who  is 
coming  here  this  evening? 

"  Why,  my  dear  child,  I  was  just  saying,  we 
like  a  clean " 

But  the  daughter  was  desperate  : 

"Oh,  tell  me,  my  mother,  who  is  com- 
ing?" 

"  My  darling,  it  is  our  blessed  friend,  Miche 
Vignevielle ! " 

"  To  see  me  ?  "  cried  the  girl. 

«  Yes." 

"  Oh,  my  mother,  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  Why,  Olive,  my  child,"  exclaimed  the  little 
mother,  bursting  into  tears,  "  do  you  forget  it 


86  MADAME   DELPHINE. 

is  Miche  Yignevielle  who  has  promised  to  pro- 
tect you  when  I  die  ?  " 

The  daughter  had  turned  away,  and  entered 
the  door ;  but  she  faced  around  again,  and 
extending  her  arms  toward  her  mother, 
cried : 

"  How   can — he   is   a  white   man — I   am   a 


poor 

"  Ah !  clierie"  replied  Madame  Delphine, 
seizing  the  outstretched  hands,  "  it  is  there — 
it  is  there  that  he  shows  himself  the  best  man 
alive  !  He  sees  that  difficulty  ;  he  proposes  to 
meet  it ;  he  says  he  will  find  you  a  suitor !  " 

J  «/ 

Olive  freed  her  hands  violently,  motioned 
her  mother  back,  and  stood  proudly  drawn  up, 
flashing  an  indignation  too  great  for  speech  ; 
but  the  next  moment  she  had  uttered  a  cry, 
and  was  sobbing  on  the  floor. 

The  mother  knelt  beside  her  and  threw  an 
arm  about  her  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  my  sweet  daughter,  you  must  not  cry ! 
I  did  not  want  to  tell  you  at  all !  I  did  not 
want  to  tell  you  !  It  isn't  fair  for  you  to  cry  so 
hard.  Miche  Vignevielle  says  you  shall  have 


MADAME   DELPHINE.  87 

the  one  you  wish,  or  none  at  all,  Olive,  or  none 
at  all." 

"  None  at  all !  none  at  all !  None,  none, 
none !  " 

"  No,  no,  Olive,"  said  the  mother,  "  none  at 
all.  He  brings  none  with  him  to-night,  and 
shall  bring  none  with  him  hereafter." 

Olive  rose  suddenly,  silently  declined  her 
mother's  aid,  and  went  alone  to  their  chamber 
in  the  half-story. 

Madame  Delphine  wandered  drearily  from 
door  to  window,  from  window  to  door,  and 
presently  into  the  newly-furnished  front  room 
which  now  seemed  dismal  beyond  degree. 
There  was  a  great  Argand  lamp  in  one  corner. 
How  she  had  labored  that  day  to  prepare  it 
for  evening  illumination !  A  little  beyond  it, 
on  the  wall,  hung  a  crucifix.  She  knelt  under 
it,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  it,  and  thus  silently 
remained  until  its  outline  was  undistinguish- 
able  in  the  deepening  shadows  of  evening. 

She  arose.  A  few  minutes  later,  as  she  was 
trying  to  light  the  lamp,  an  approaching  step 


88  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

on  the  sidewalk  seemed  to  pause.  Her  heart 
stood  still.  She  softly  laid  the  phosphorus- 
box  out  of  her  hands.  A  shoe  grated  softly  on 
the  stone  step,  and  Madame  Delphine,  her 
heart  beating  in  great  thuds,  without  waiting 
for  a  knock,  opened  the  door,  bowed  low,  and 
exclaimed  in  a  soft  perturbed  voice  : 

"Miche  Vignevielle!" 

He  entered,  hat  in  hand,  and  with  that  almost 
noiseless  tread  which  we  have  noticed.  She 
gave  him  a  chair  and  closed  the  door ;  then 
hastened,  with  words  of  apology,  back  to  her 
task  of  lighting  the  lamp.  But  her  hands 
paused  in  their  work  again, — Olive's  step  was 
on  the  stairs  ;  then  it  came  off  the  stairs  ;  then 
it  was  in  the  next  room,  and  then  there  was 
the  whisper  of  soft  robes,  a  breath  of  gentle 
perfume,  and  a  snowy  figure  in  the  door.  She 
was  dressed  for  the  evening. 

"Maman?" 

Madame  Delphine  was  struggling  desperately 
with  the  lamp,  and  at  that  moment  it  responded 
with  a,  tiny  bead  of  light. 

"  I  am  here,  my  daughter." 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  89 

She  hastened  to  the  door,  and  Olive,  all  un- 
aware of  a  third  presence,  lifted  her  white 
arms,  laid  them  about  her  mother's  neck,  and, 
ignoring  her  effort  to  speak,  wrested  a  fervent 
kiss  from  her  lips.  The  crystal  of  the  lamp 
sent  out  a  faint  gleam  ;  it  grew ;  it  spread  on 
every  side  ;  the  ceiling,  the  walls  lighted  up ; 
the  crucifix,  the  furniture  of  the  room  came 
back  into  shape. 

"  Maman !  "  cried  Olive,  with  a  tremor  of 
consternation. 

"  It  is  Miche  Yignevielle,  my  daughter— 

The  gloom  melted  swiftly  away  before  the 
eyes  of  the  startled  maiden,  a  dark  form  stood 
out  against  the  farther  wall,  and  the  light,  ex- 
panding to  the  full,  shone  clearly  upon  the 
unmoving  figure  and  quiet  face  of  Capitaine 
Lemaitre. 


CHAPTEE  XH. 

THE     MOTHER     BIED. 

ONE  afternoon,  some  three  weeks  after  Capi- 
taine  Lemaitre  had  called  on  Madame  Del- 
phine,  the  priest  started  to  make  a  pastoral 
call  and  had  hardly  left  the  gate  of  his  cottage, 
when  a  person,  overtaking  him,  plucked  his 
gown : 

"Pere  Jerome " 

He  turned. 

The  face  that  met  his  was  so  changed  with 
excitement  and  distress  that  for  an  instant  he 
did  not  recognize  it. 

"  Why,  Madame  Delphine  " 

"  Oh,  Pere  Jerome  !  I  wan'  see  you  so  bad, 
so  bad  !  Mo  oule  dit  quic'ose, — I  godd  some'  to 
tell  you." 

The  two  languages  might  be  more  success- 
ful than  one,  she  seemed  to  think. 
90 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  91 

"  We  had  better  go  back  to  my  parlor,"  said 
the  priest,  in  their  native  tongue. 

They  returned. 

Madame  Delphine's  very  step  was  altered, — 
nervous  and  inelastic.  She  swung  one  arm  as 
she  walked,  and  brandished  a  turkey-tail  fan. 

"  I  was  glad,  yass,  to  kedge  you,"  she  said, 
as  they  mounted  the  front,  outdoor  stair ;  fol- 
lowing her  speech  with  a  slight,  unmusical 
laugh,  and  fanning  herself  with  unconscious 
fury. 

"  Fe  diaud"  she  remarked  again,  taking  the 
chair  he  offered  and  continuing  to  ply  the  fan. 

Pere  Jerome  laid  his  hat  upon  a  chest  of 
drawers,  sat  down  opposite  her,  and  said,  as  he 
wiped  his  kindly  face  : 

"Well,  Madame  Carraze  ?  " 

Gentle  as  the  tone  was,  she  started,  ceased 
fanning,  lowered  the  fan  to  her  knee,  and  com- 
menced smoothing  its  feathers. 

"  Pere  Jerome "  She  gnawed  her  lip 

and  shook  her  head. 

"Well?" 

She  burst  into  tears. 


92  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

The  priest  rose  and  loosed  the  curtain  of 
one  of  the  windows.  He  did  it  slowly — as 
slowly  as  he  could,  and,  as  he  came  back,  she 
lifted  her  face  with  sudden  energy,  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Oh,  Pere  Jerome,  de  law  is  brogue !  de  law 
is  brogue  !  I  brogue  it !  'Twas  me  !  'Twas 
me!" 

The  tears  gushed  out  again,  but  she  shut 
her  lips  very  tight,  and  dumbly  turned  away 
her  face.  Pere  Jerome  waited  a  little  before 
replying ;  then  he  said,  very  gently  : 

"  I  suppose  dad  muss  'ave  been  by  accyden', 
Madame  Delphine  ?  " 

The  little  father  felt  a  wish — one  which  he 
often  had  when  weeping  women  were  before 
him — that  he  were  an  angel  instead  of  a  man, 
long  enough  to  press  the  tearful  cheek  upon 
his  breast,  and  assure  the  weeper  God  would 
not  let  the  lawyers  and  judges  hurt  her.  He 
allowed  a  few  moments  more  to  pass,  and  then 
asked : 

"  N'est-ce-pas,  Madame  Delphine  ?  Daz  ze 
way,  aint  it  ?  " 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  93 

"  No,  Pere  Jerome,  no.  My  daughter — oh, 
Pere  Jerome,  I  bethroath  my  lill'  girl — to  a 
w'ite  man ! "  And  immediately  Madame  Del- 
phine  commenced  savagely  drawing  a  thread 
in  the  fabric  of  her  skirt  with  one  trembling 
hand,  while  she  drove  the  fan  with  the  other. 
"Dey  goin'  git  marry." 

On  the  priest's  face  came  a  look  of  pained 
surprise.  He  slowly  said : 

"  Is  dad  possib',  Madame  Delphine  ?  " 

"  Yass,"  she  replied,  at  first  without  lifting 
her  eyes;  and  then  again,  "Yass,"  looking  full 
upon  him  through  her  tears,  "  yass,  'tis  tru'." 

He  rose  and  walked  once  across  the  room, 
returned,  and  said,  in  the  Creole  dialect : 

"  Is  he  a  good  man — without  doubt  ?  " 

"  De  bez  in  God's  world !  "  replied  Madame 
Delphine,  with  a  rapturous  smile. 

"  My  poor,  dear  friend,"  said  the  priest,  "  I 
am  afraid  you  are  being  deceived  by  somebody." 

There  was  the  pride  of  an  unswerving  faith 
in  the  triumphant  tone  and  smile  with  which 
she  replied,  raising  and  slowly  shaking  her 
head : 


94  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  Ah-h,  no-o-o,  Miche  !  Ah-h,  no,  no !  Not 
by  Ursin  Lemaitre-Yignevielle !  " 

Pere  Jerome  was  confounded.  He  turned 
again,  and,  with  his  hands  at  his  back  and  his 
eyes  cast  down,  slowly  paced  the  floor. 

"  He  is  a  good  man,"  he  said,  by  and  by,  as 
if  he  thought  aloud.  At  length  he  halted  be- 
fore the  woman. 

"  Madame  Delphine 

The  distressed  glance  with  which  she  had 
been  following  his  steps  was  lifted  to  his 
eyes. 

"  Suppose  dad  should  be  true  w'at  doze 
peop'  say  'bout  Ursin." 

"Qw  ci  qa?  What  is  that?"  asked  the 
quadroone,  stopping  her  fan. 

"  Some  peop'  say  Ursin  is  crezzie." 

"  Ah,  Pere  Jerome  !  "  She  leaped  to  her  feet 
as  if  he  had  smitten  her,  and  putting  his  words 
away  with  an  outstretched  arm  and  wide-open 
palm,  suddenly  lifted  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven, 
and  cried  :  "  I  wizh  to  God — I  unzh  to  God — de 
whole  worl'  was  crezzie  dad  same  way !  "  She 
sank,  trembling,  into  her  chair.  "  Oh,  no,  no," 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  95 

she  continued,  shaking  her  head,  "'tis  not 
Miche  Yignevielle  w'at's  crezzie."  Her  eyes 
lighted  with  sudden  fierceness.  "  'Tis  dad  law  ! 
Dad  law  is  crezzie  !  Dad  law  is  a  fool !  " 

A  priest  of  less  heart-wisdom  might  have 
replied  that  the  law  is — the  law ;  but  Pere 
Jerome  saw  that  Madame  Delphine  was  ex- 
pecting this  very  response.  Wherefore  he 
said,  with  gentleness  : 

"  Madame  Delphine,  a  priest  is  not  a  bailiff, 
but  a  physician.  How  can  I  help  you? " 

A  grateful  light  shone  a  moment  in  her  eyes, 
yet  there  remained  a  piteous  hostility  in  the 
tone  in  which  she  demanded  : 

"  Mais,  pou'quoi  yefe  cette  mechanique  Id?" — 
What  business  had  they  to  make  that  contrap- 
tion? 

His  answer  was  a  shrug  with  his  palms  ex- 
tended and  a  short,  disclamatory  "  Ah."  He 
started  to  resume  his  walk,  but  turned  to  her 
again  and  said : 

"  Why  did  they  make  that  law  ?  Well,  they 
made  it  to  keep  the  two  races  separate." 

Madame  Delphine  startled  the  speaker  with 


96  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

a  loud,  harsh,  angry  laugh.  Fire  came  from 
her  eyes  and  her  lip  curled  with  scorn. 

"  Then  they  made  a  lie,  Pere  Jerome  !  Sepa- 
rate !  No-o-o  !  They  do  not  want  to  keep  us 
separated  ;  no,  no  !  But  they  do  want  to  keep 
us  despised ! "  She  laid  her  hand  on  her 
heart,  and  frowned  upward  with  physical  pain. 
"  But,  very  well !  from  which  race  do  they  want 
to  keep  my  daughter  separate  ?  She  is  seven 
parts  white !  The  law  did  not  stop  her  from 
being  that ;  and  now,  when  she  wants  to  be  a 
white  man's  good  and  honest  wife,  shall  that 
law  stop  her  ?  Oh,  no  !  "  She  rose  up.  "  No ; 
I  will  tell  you  what  that  law  is  made  for.  It  is 
made  to  —  punish  —  my — child  —  for — not — 
choosing  —  her  —  father  !  Pere  Jerome  - —  my 
God,  what  a  law ! "  She  dropped  back  into 
her  seat.  The  tears  came  in  a  flood,  which  she 
made  no  attempt  to  restrain. 

"  No,"  she  began  again — and  here  she  broke 
into  English — "  fo'  me  I  don'  kyare  ;  but,  Pere 
Jerome, — 'tis  fo'  dat  I  come  to  tell  you, — dey 
slidd  not  punizh  my  daughter ! "  She  was 
on  her  feet  again,  smiting  her  heaving  bosom 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  97 

with  the  fan.  "  She  shall  marrie  oo  she 
want  !  " 

Pere  Jerome  had  heard  her  out,  not  inter- 
rupting by  so  much  as  a  motion  of  the  hand. 
Now  his  decision  was  made,  and  he  touched 
her  softly  with  the  ends  of  his  fingers. 

"  Madame  Delphine,  I  want  you  to  go  at 
'ome.  Go  at  'ome." 

"  Wad  you  goin'  mague  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nottin'.  But  go  at  'ome.  Kip  quite  ;  don' 
put  you'se'f  sig.  I  goin'  see  Ursin.  "We  trah 
to  figs  dat  law  fo'  you." 

"  You  kin  figs  dad  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  gleam 


"We  goin'  to  try,  Madame  Delphine. 
Adieu  !  " 

He  offered  his  hand.  She  seized  and  kissed 
it  thrice,  covering  it  with  tears,  at  the  same 
time  lifting  up  her  eyes  to  his  and  murmuring  : 

"  De  bez  man  God  evva  mague  !  " 

At  the  door  she  turned  to  offer  a  more  con- 
ventional good-bye  ;  but  he  was  following  her 
out,  bareheaded.  At  the  gate  they  paused  an 
instant,  and  then  parted  with  a  simple  adieu, 


98  MADAME   DELPHINE. 

she  going  home  and  he  returning  for  his  hat, 
and  starting  again  upon  his  interrupted  busi- 
ness. 

Before  he  came  back  to  his  own  house,  he 
stopped  at  the  lodgings  of  Monsieur  Vigne- 
vielle,  but  did  not  find  him  in. 

"  Indeed,"  the  servant  at  the  door  said,  "  he 
said  he  might  not  return  for  some  days  or 
weeks." 

So  Pere  Jerome,  much  wondering,  made  a 
second  detour  toward  the  residence  of  one  of 
Monsieur  Yignevielle's  employes. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  clerk,  "  his  instructions  are 
to  hold  the  business,  as  far  as  practicable,  in 
suspense,  during  his  absence.  Everything  is 
in  another  name."  And  then  he  whispered  : 

"  Officers  of  the  Government  looking  for 
him.  Information  got  from  some  of  the  pris- 
oners taken  months  ago  by  the  United  States 
brig  Porpoise.  But  " — a  still  softer  whisper — 
"  have  no  fear  ;  they  will  never  find  him :  Jean 
Thompson  and  Evariste  Yarrillat  have  hid  him 
away  too  well  for  that." 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

TRIBULATION. 

THE  Saturday  following  was  a  very  beautiful 
day.  In  the  morning  a  light  fall  of  rain  had 
passed  across  the  town,  and  all  the  afternoon 
you  could  see  signs,  here  and  there  upon  the 
horizon,  of  other  showers.  The  ground  was 
dry  again,  while  the  breeze  was  cool  and 
sweet,  smelling  of  wet  foliage  and  bringing 
sunshine  and  shade  in  frequent  and  very 
pleasing  alternation. 

There  was  a  walk  in  Pere  Jerome's  little 
garden,  of  which  we  have  not  spoken,  off  on 
the  right  side  of  the  cottage,  with  his  chamber 
window  at  one  end,  a  few  old  and  twisted,  but 
blossom-laden,  crape-myrtles  on  either  hand, 
now  and  then  a  rose  of  some  unpretending  va- 
riety and  some  bunches  of  rue,  and  at  the 
other  end  a  shrine,  in  whose  blue  niche  stood 
99 


100  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

a  small  figure  of  Mary,  with  folded  hands  and 
uplifted  eyes.  No  other  window  looked  down 
upon  the  spot,  and  its  seclusion  was  often  a 
great  comfort  to  Pere  Jerome. 

Up  and  down  this  path,  but  a  few  steps  in 
its  entire  length,  the  priest  was  walking,  taking 
the  air  for  a  few  moments  after  a  prolonged 
sitting  in  the  confessional.  Penitents  had 
been  numerous  this  afternoon.  He  was  think- 
ing of  Ursin.  The  officers  of  the  Government 
had  not  found  him,  nor  had  Pere  Jerome  seen 
him  ;  yet  he  believed  they  had,  in  a  certain 
indirect  way,  devised  a  simple  project  by 
which  they  could  at  any  time  "  figs  dad  law," 
providing  only  that  these  Government  officials 
would  give  over  their  search ;  for,  though  he 
had  not  seen  the  fugitive,  Madame  Delphine 
had  seen  him,  and  had  been  the  vehicle  of 
communication  between  them.  There  was  an 
orange-tree,  where  a  mocking-bird  was  wont 
to  sing  and  a  girl  in  white  to  walk,  that  the 
detectives  wot  not  of.  The.  law  was  to  be 
"figs  "  by  the  departure  of  the  three  frequent- 
ers of  the  jasmine-scented  garden  in  one  ship 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  101 

to    France,    where    the   law    offered  no    ob- 
stacles. 

It  seemed  moderately  certain  to  those  in 
search  of  Monsieur  Vignevielle  (and  it  was  true) 
that  Jean  and  Evariste  were  his  harborers  ; 
but  for  all  that  the  hunt,  even  for  clues,  was 
vain.  The  little  banking  establishment  had 
not  been  disturbed.  Jean  Thompson  had  told 
the  searchers  certain  facts  about  it,  and  about 
its  gentle  proprietor  as  well,  that  persuaded 
them  to  make  no  move  against  the  concern,  if 
the  same  relations  did  not  even  induce  a  re- 
laxation of  their  efforts  for  his  personal  dis- 
covery. 

Pere  Jerome  was  walking  to  and  fro,  with 
his  hands  behind  him,  pondering  these  mat- 
ters. He  had  paused  a  moment  at  the  end  of 
the  walk  furthest  from  his  window,  and  was 
looking  around  upon  the  sky,  when,  turning, 
he  beheld  a  closely  veiled  female  figure  stand- 
ing at  the  other  end,  and  knew  instantly  that  it 
was  Olive. 

She  came  forward  quickly  and  with  evident 
eagerness. 


102  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  I  came  to  confession,"  she  said,  breathing 
hurriedly,  the  excitement  in  her  eyes  shining 
through  her  veil,  "  but  I  find  I  am  too  late." 

"  There  is  no  too  late  or  too  early  for  that ; 
I  am  always  ready,"  said  the  priest.  "But 
how  is  your  mother  ?  " 

«Ah! " 

Her  voice  failed. 

"  More  trouble  ?  " 

"Ah,  sir,  I  have  made  trouble.  Oh,  Pere 
Jerome,  I  am  bringing  so  much  trouble  upon 
my  poor  mother  !  " 

Pere  Jerome  moved  slowly  toward  the  house, 
with  his  eyes  cast  down,  the  veiled  girl  at  his  side. 

"It  is  not  your  fault,"  he  presently  said. 
And  after  another  pause  :  "  I  thought  it  was  all 
arranged." 

He  looked  up  and  could  see,  even  through 
the  veil,  her  crimson  blush. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  in  a  low,  despairing 
voice,  dropping  her  face. 

"What  is  the  difficulty?"  asked  the  priest, 
stopping  in  the  angle  of  the  path,  where  it 
turned  toward  the  front  of  the  house. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  103 

She  averted  her  face,  and  began  picking  the 
thin  scales  of  bark  from  a  crape-myrtle. 

"  Madame  Thompson  and  her  husband  were 
at  our  house  this  morning.  He  had  told  Mon- 
sieur Thompson  all  about  it.  They  were  very 

kind  to  me  at  first,  but  they  tried "  She 

was  weeping. 

"What  did  they  try  to  do?"  asked  the 
priest. 

"  They  tried  to  make  me  believe  he  is  in- 
sane." 

She  succeeded  in  passing  her  handkerchief 
up  under  her  veil. 

"  And  I  suppose  then  your  poor  mother  grew 
angry,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  they  became  much  more  so,  and 
said  if  we  did  not  write,  or  send  a  writing, 
to  him,  within  twenty-four  hours,,  breaking 
the " 

"  Engagement,"  said  Pere  Jerome. 

"They  would  give  him  up  to  the  Govern- 
ment. Oh,  Pere  Jerome,  what  shall  I  do  ?  It 
is  killing  my  mother  ! " 

She  bowed  her  head  and  sobbed. 


104  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  now  ?  " 

"She  has  gone  to  see  Monsieur  Jean 
Thompson.  She  says  she  has  a  plan  that  will 
match  them  all.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is.  I 
begged  her  not  to  go  ;  but  oh,  sir,  she  is  crazy, 
— and — I  am  no  better." 

"  My  poor  child,"  said  Pere  Jerome,  "  what 
you  seem  to  want  is  not  absolution,  but  relief 
from  persecution." 

"  Oh,  father,  I  have  committed  mortal  sin, — 
I  am  guilty  of  pride  and  anger." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  priest,  starting  to- 
ward his  front  gate,  "we  will  put  off  your  con- 
fession. Let  it  go  until  to-morrow  morning ; 
you  will  find  me  in  my  box  just  before  mass ; 
I  will  hear  you  then.  My  child,  I  know  that 
in  your  heart,  now,  you  begrudge  the  time  it 
would  take  ;  and  that  is  right.  There  are  mo- 
ments when  we  are  not  in  place  even  on  peni- 
tential knees.  It  is  so  with  you  now.  We 
must  find  your  mother.  Go  you  at  once  to 
your  house ;  if  she  is  there,  comfort  her  as 
best  you  can,  and  keep  her  in,  if  possible,  until 
I  come.  If  she  is  not  there,  stay ;  leave  me  to 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  105 

find  her ;  one  of  you,  at  least,  must  be  where  I 
can  get  word  to  you  promptly.  God  comfort 
and  uphold  you.  I  hope  you  may  find  her  at 
home  ;  tell  her,  for  me,  not  to  fear," — he  lifted 
the  gate-latch, — "that  she  and  her  daughter 
are  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows  ;  that 
God's  priest  sends  her  that  word  from  Him. 
Tell  her  to  fix  her  trust  in  the  great  Husband 
of  the  Church,  and  she  shall  yet  see  her  child 
receiving  the  grace-giving  sacrament  of  matri- 
mony. Go  ;  I  shall,  in  a  few  minutes,  be  on 
my  way  to  Jean  Thompson's,  and  shall  find 
her,  either  there  or  wherever  she  is.  Go  ; 
they  shall  not  oppress  you.  Adieu  !  " 

A  moment  or  two  later  he  was  in  the  street 
himself. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

BY  AN   OATH. 

PERE  JEROME,  pausing  on  a  street-corner  in 
the  last  hour  of  sunlight,  had  wiped  his  brow 
and  taken  his  cane  down  from  under  his  arm 
to  start  again,  when  somebody,  coming  noise- 
lessly from  he  knew  not  where,  asked,  so  sud- 
denly as  to  startle  him  : 

"  Miche,  commin  ye  'pette  la  rie  id  ? — Jiow  do 
they  call  this  street  here  ?  " 

It  was  by  the  bonnet  and  dress,  disordered 
though  they  were,  rather  than  by  the  haggard 
face  which  looked  distractedly  around,  that  he 
recognized  the  woman  to  whom  he  replied  in 
her  own  patois: 

11  It  is  the  Rue  Burgundy.  Where  are  you 
going,  Madame  Delphine  ?  " 

She  almost  leaped  from  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  Pere  Jerome  !  mo  pas  conne, — I  dunno. 
106 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  107 

You  know  w'ere's  dad  'ouse  of  Miche  Jean 
Tomkin  ?  Mo  courri  'ci,  mo  courri  Id, — mo  pas 
capdbe  li  trouve.  I  go  (run)  here — there — I 
cannot  find  it,"  she  gesticulated. 

"  I  am  going  there  myself,"  said  he  ;  "  but 
why  do  you  want  to  see  Jean  Thompson,  Ma- 
dame Delphine  ?" 

"  I  'blige'  to  see  'im  !  "  she  replied,  jerking 
herself  half  around  away,  one  foot  planted  for- 
ward with  an  air  of  excited  preoccupation ;  "  I 
god  some'  to  tell  'im  wad  I  'blige*  to  tell  'im  ! " 

"  Madame  Delphine  - 

"  Oh !  Pere  Jerome,  fo'  de  love  of  de  good 
God,  show  me  dad  way  to  de  'ouse  of  Jean 
Tomkin ! " 

Her  distressed  smile  implored  pardon  for 
her  rudeness. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  tell  him  ?  "  asked 
the  priest. 

"Oh,  Pere  Jerome," — in  the  Creole  patois 
again, — "  I  am  going  to  put  an  end  to  all  this 
trouble — only  I  pray  you  do  not  ask  me  about 
it  now  ;  every  minute  is  precious  !  " 

He  could  not  withstand  her  look  of  entreaty. 


108  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  and  they  went. 

Jean  Thompson  and  Doctor  Yarrillat  lived 
opposite  each  other  on  the  Bayou  road,  a  lit- 
tle way  beyond  the  town  limits  as  then  pre- 
scribed. Each  had  his  large,  white-columned, 
four-sided  house  among  the  magnolias,— his 
huge  live-oak  overshadowing  either  corner  of 
the  darkly  shaded  garden,  his  broad,  brick 
walk  leading  down  to  the  tall,  brick-pillared 
gate,  his  square  of  bright,  red  pavement  on 
the  turf-covered  sidewalk,  and  his  railed  plat- 
form spanning  the  draining- ditch,  with  a  pair 
of  green  benches,  one  on  each  edge,  facing 
each  other  crosswise  of  the  gutter.  There,  any 
sunset  hour,  you  were  sure  to  find  the  house- 
holder sitting  beside  his  cool-robed  matron, 
two  or  three  slave  nurses  in  white  turbans 
standing  at  hand,  and  an  excited  throng  of  fair 
children,  nearly  all  of  a  size. 

Sometimes,  at  a  beckon  or  call,  the  parents 
on  one  side  of  the  way  would  join  those  on  the 
other,  and  the  children  and  nurses  of  both 
families  would  be  given  the  liberty  of  the  op- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  109 

posite  platform  and  an  ice-cream  fund !  Gen- 
erally the  parents  chose  the  Thompson  plat- 
form, its  outlook  being  more  toward  the  sunset. 

Such  happened  to  be  the  arrangement  this 
afternoon.  The  two  husbands  sat  on  one 
bench  and  their  wives  on  the  other,  both  pairs 
very  quiet,  waiting  respectfully  for  the  day  to 
die,  and  exchanging  only  occasional  comments 
on  matters  of  light  moment  as  they  passed 
through  the  memory.  During  one  term  of 
silence  Madame  Varrillat,  a  pale,  thin-faced, 
but  cheerful -looking  lady,  touched  Madame 
Thompson,  a  person  of  two  and  a  half  times 
her  weight,  on  her  extensive  and  snowy  bare 
elbow,  directing  her  attention  obliquely  up 
and  across  the  road. 

About  a  hundred  yards  distant,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  river,  was  a  long,  pleasantly  shaded 
green  strip  of  turf,  destined  in  time  for  a  side- 
walk. It  had  a  deep  ditch  on  the  nearer  side, 
and  a  fence  of  rough  cypress  palisades  on  the 
farther,  and  these  were  overhung,  on  the  one 
hand,  by  a  row  of  bitter  orange-trees  inside 
the  in  closure,  and,  on  the  other,  by  a  line  of 


110  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

slanting  china-trees  along  the  outer  edge  of 
the  ditch.  Down  this  cool  avenue  two  figures 
were  approaching  side  by  side.  They  had  first 
attracted  Madame  Yarrillat's  notice  by  the 
bright  play  of  sunbeams  which,  as  they  walked, 
fell  upon  them  in  soft,  golden  flashes  through 
the  chinks  between  the  palisades. 

Madame  Thompson  elevated  a  pair  of  glasses 
which  were  no  detraction  from  her  very  good 
looks,  and  remarked,  with  the  serenity  of  a  re- 
connoitering  general : 

11  Per e  Jerome  et  cette  milatraise." 

All  eyes  were  bent  toward  them. 

"  She  walks  like  a  man,"  said  Madame  Var- 
rillat,  in  the  language  with  which  the  conver- 
sation had  opened. 

"  No,"  said  the  physician,  "  like  a  woman  in 
a  state  of  high  nervous  excitement." 

Jean  Thompson  kept  his  eyes  on  the  woman, 
and  said : 

"  She  must  not  forget  to  walk  like  a  woman 
in  the  State  of  Louisiana," — as  near  as  the 
pun  can  be  translated.  The  company  laughed. 
Jean  Thompson  looked  at  his  wife,  whose  ap- 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  Ill 

plause  he  prized,  and  she  answered  by  an  as- 
severative  toss  of  the  head,  leaning  back  and 
contriving,  with  some  effort,  to  get  her  arms 
folded.  Her  laugh  was  musical  and  low,  but 
enough  to  make  the  folded  arms  shake  gently 
up  and  down. 

"  Pere  Jerome  is  talking  to  her,"  said  one. 
The  priest  was  at  that  moment  endeavoring, 
in  the  interest  of  peace,  to  say  a  good  word 
for  the  four  people  who  sat  watching  his  ap- 
proach. It  was  in  the  old  strain  : 

"  Blame  them  one  part,  Madame  Delphine, 
and  their  fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  and  fel- 
low-citizens the  other  ninety-nine." 

But  to  everything  she  had  the  one  amiable 
answer  which  Pere  Jerome  ignored : 

"  I  am  going  to  arrange  it  to  satisfy  every- 
body, all  together.  Tout  a  fait" 

"  They  are  coming  here,"  said  Madame  Yar- 
rillat,  half  articulately. 

"  Well,  of  course,"  murmured  another  ;  and 
the  four  rose  up,  smiling  courteously,  the  doc- 
tor and  attorney  advancing  and  shaking  hands 
with  the  priest. 


112  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

No — Pere  Jerome  thanked  them — he  could 
not  sit  down. 

"  This,  I  believe  you  kn  jw,  Jean,  is  Madame 
Delphine  - 

The  quadroone  curtsied. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  he  added,  smiling  kindly 
upon  her,  and  turning,  with  something  imper- 
ative in  his  eye,  to  the  group.  "  She  says  she 
has  an  important  private  matter  to  commu- 
nicate." 

"  To  me  ?  "  asked  Jean  Thompson. 

"  To  all  of  you  ;  so  I  will  -  Good-even- 
ing." He  responded  nothing  to  the  expressions 
of  regret,  but  turned  to  Madame  Delphine. 
She  murmured  something. 

"Ah!  yes,  certainly."  He  addressed  the 
company :  "  She  wishes  me  to  speak  for  her 
veracity;  it  is  unimpeachable.  Well,  good- 
evening."  He  shook  hands  and  departed. 

The  four  resumed  their  seats,  and  turned 
their  eyes  upon  the  standing  figure. 

"  Have  you  something  to  say  to  us  ?  "  asked 
Jean  Thompson,  frowning  at  her  law-defying 
bonnet. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  113 

"  Oui"  replied  the  woman,  shrinking  to  one 
side,  and  laying  hold  of  one  of  the  benches, 
"  mo  ouU  di*  tou'  c'ose  " — I  want  to  tell  every- 
thing. "Miche  Vignevidle  laplis  bon  Jiomme  di 
moune  " — the  best  man  in  the  world  ;  "  mo  pas 
capabe  life  tracas  " — I  cannot  give  him  trouble. 
11 Mo  pas  capabe,non;  m'ole  di'  toiisc'ose."  She 
attempted  to  fan  herself,  her  face  turned  away 
from  the  attorney,  and  her  eyes  rested  on  the 
ground. 

"  Take  a  seat,"  said  Doctor  Yarrillat,  with 
some  suddenness,  starting  from  his  place  and 
gently  guiding  her  sinking  form  into  the  cor- 
ner of  the  bench.  The  ladies  rose  up  ;  some- 
body had  to  stand ;  the  two  races  could  not 
both  sit  down  at  once — at  least  not  in  that 
public  manner. 

"  Your  salts,"  said  the  physician  to  his  wife. 
She  handed  the  vial.  Madame  Delphine  stood 
up  again. 

"We  will  all  go  inside,"  said  Madame 
Thompson,  and  they  passed  through  the  gate 
and  up  the  walk,  mounted  the  steps,  and  en- 
tered the  deep,  cool  drawing-room. 


114  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

Madame  Thompson  herself  bade  the  quad- 
roone  be  seated. 

"Well?"  said  Jean  Thompson,  as  the  rest 
took  chairs. 

"C'est  drole" — it's  funny — said  Madame  Del- 
phine,  with  a  piteous  effort  to  smile,  "that  no- 
body thought1  of  it.  It  is  so  plain.  You  have 
only  to  look  and  see.  I  mean  about  Olive." 
She  loosed  a  button  in  the  front  of  her  dress 
and  passed  her  hand  into  her  bosom.  "  And 
yet,  Olive  herself  never  thought  of  it.  She 
does  not  know  a  word." 

The  hand  came  out  holding  a  miniature. 
Madame  Varrillat  passed  it  to  Jean  Thompson. 

"  Ouala  so  popa,"  said  Madame  Delphine. 
"That  is  her  father." 

It  went  from  one  to  another,  exciting  ad- 
miration and  murmured  praise. 

"  She  is  the  image  of  him,"  said  Madame 
Thompson,  in  an  austere  under-tone,  return- 
ing it  to  her  husband. 

Doctor  Varrillat  was  watching  Madame  Del- 
phine. She  was  very  pale.  She  had  passed  a 
trembling  hand  into  a  pocket  of  her  skirt,  and 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  115 

now  drew  out  another  picture,  in  a  case  the 
counterpart  of  the  first.  He  reached  but  for 
it,  and  she  handed  it  to  him.  He  looked  at  it 
a  moment,  when  his  eyes  suddenly  lighted  up 
and  he  passed  it  to  the  attorney. 

"  Et  la  " — Madame  Delphine's  utterance  fail- 
ed— "et  Id,  ouala  sa  moman."  (That  is  her 
mother.) 

The  three  others,  instantly  gathered  around 
Jean  Thompson's  chair.  They  were  much  im- 
pressed. 

"  It  is  true  beyond  a  doubt ! "  muttered  Ma- 
dame Thompson. 

Madame  Varrillat  looked  at  her  with  aston- 
ishment. 

"  The  proof  is  right  there  in  the  faces,"  said 
Madame  Thompson. 

"  Yes  !  yes  ! "  said  Madame  Delphine,  ex- 
citedly ;  "  the  proof  is  there !  You  do  not 
want  any  better  !  I  am  willing  to  swear  to  it !  i 
But  you  want  no  better  proof !  That  is  all 
anybody  could  want !  My  God !  you  cannot 
help  but  see  it ! " 

Her  manner  was  wild. 


116  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

Jean  Thompson  looked  at  her  sternly. 

"  Nevertheless  you  say  you  are  willing  to  take 
your  solemn  oath  to  this." 

"Certainly " 

"You  will  have  to  doit." 

"Certainly,  Miche  Thompson,  of  course  I 
shall ;  you  will  make  out  the  paper  and  I  will 
swear  before  God  that  it  is  true  !  Only  " — turn- 
ing to  the  ladies — "  do  not  tell  Olive  ;  she  will 
never  believe  it.  It  will  break  her  heart ! 
It " 

A  servant  came  and  spoke  privately  to 
Madame  Thompson,  who  rose  quickly  and  went 
to  the  hall.  Madame  Delphine  continued,  ris- 
ing unconsciously : 

"You  see,  I  have  had  her  with  me  from  a  baby. 
She  knows  no  better.  He  brought  her  to  me 
only  two  months  old.  Her  mother  had  died  in 
the  ship,  coming  out  here.  He  did  not  come 
straight  from  home  here.  His  people  never 
knew  he  was  married  !  " 

The  speaker  looked  around  suddenly  with 
a  startled  glance.  There  was  a  noise  of  excited 
speaking  in  the  hall. 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  117 


"  It  is  not  true,  Madame  Thompson  !  " 
a  girl's  voice. 

Madame  Delphine's  look  became  one  of  wild- 
est distress  and  alarm,  and  she  opened  her  lips 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  utter  some  request,  when 
Olive  appeared  a  moment  in  the  door,  and  then 
flew  into  her  arms. 

"  My  mother  !  my  mother  !  my  mother  !  " 

Madame  Thompson,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
tenderly  drew  them  apart  and  let  Madame 
Delphine  down  into  her  chair,  while  Olive 
threw  herself  upon  her  knees,  continuing  to 
cry  : 

"  Oh,  my  mother  !  Say  you  are  my  mother  !  " 

Madame  Delphine  looked  an  instant  into  the 
upturned  face,  and  then  turned  her  own  away, 
with  a  long,  low  cry  of  pain,  looked  again,  and 
laying  both  hands  upon  the  suppliant's  head, 
said: 

"Oh,  chere  piti  amain,  to  pa1  ma  fie!  "  (Oh,  my 
darling  little  one,  you  are  not  my  daughter  !) 
Her  eyes  closed,  and  her  head  sank  back;  the 
two  gentlemen  sprang  to  her  assistance,  and 
laid  her  upon  a  sofa  unconscious. 


118  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

When  they  brought  her  to  herself,  Olive  was 
kneeling  at  her  head  silently  weeping. 

"  Maman,  chere  maman  !  "  said  the  girl  softly, 
kissing  her  lips. 

"  Ma  courri  cez  moin  "  (I  will  go  home),  said 
the  mother,  drearily. 

"  You  will  go  home  with  me,"  said  Madame 
Yarrillat,  with  great  kindness  of  manner — "just 
across  the  street  here  ;  I  will  take  care  of  you 
till  you  feel  better.  And  Olive  will  stay  here 
with  Madame  Thompson.  You  will  be  only 
the  width  of  the  street  apart." 

But  Madame  Delphine  would  go  nowhere 
but  to  her  home.  Olive  she  would  not  allow  to 
go  with  her.  Then  they  wanted  to  send  a  ser- 
vant or  two  to  sleep  in  the  house  with  her  for 
aid  and  protection;  but  all  she  would  ac- 
cept was  the  transient  service  of  a  messenger 
to  invite  two  of  her  kinspeople — man  and 
wife — to  come  and  make  their  dwelling  with 
her. 

In  course  of  time  these  two — a  poor,  timid, 
helpless,  pair — fell  heir  to  the  premises.  Their 
children  had  it  after  them ;  but,  whether  in 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  119 

those  hands  or  these,  the  house  had  its  habits 
and  continued  in  them ;  and  to  this  day  the 
neighbors,  as  has  already  been  said,  rightly  ex- 
plain its  close-sealed,  uninhabited  look  by  the 
all-sufficient  statement  that  the  inmates  "is 
quadroons." 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

KYBIE  ELEISON. 

THE  second  Saturday  afternoon  following  was 
hot  and  calm,  the  lamp  burning  before  the 
tabernacle  in  Pere  Jerome's  little  church  might 
have  hung  with  as  motionless  a  flame  in  the 
window  behind.  The  lilies  of  St.  Joseph's  wand, 
shining  in  one  of  the  half  opened  panes,  were 
not  more  completely  at  rest  than  the  leaves 
on  tree  and  vine  without,  suspended  in  the 
slumbering  air.  Almost  as  still,  down  under 
the  organ-gallery,  with  a  single  band  of  light 
falling  athwart  his  box  from  a  small  door  which 
stood  ajar,  sat  the  little  priest,  behind  the  lat- 
tice of  the  confessional,  silently  wiping  away 
the  sweat  that  beaded  on  his  brow  and  rolled 
down  his  face.  At  distant  intervals  the  shadow 
of  some  one  entering  softly  through  the  door 
would  obscure,  for  a  moment,  the  band  of  light, 
and  an  aged  crone,  or  a  little  boy,  or  some  gentle 
120 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  121 

presence  that  the  listening  confessor  had  known 
only  by  the  voice  for  many  years,  would  kneel 
a  few  moments  beside  his  waiting  ear,  in  prayer 
for  blessing  and  in  review  of  those  slips  and 
errors  which  prove  us  all  akin. 

The  day  had  been  long  and  fatiguing.  First, 
early  mass ;  a  hasty  meal ;  then  a  business 
call  upon  the  archbishop  in  the  interest  of 
some  projected  charity ;  then  back  to  his  cot- 
tage, and  so  to  the  banking-house  of  "  Vigne- 
vielle,"  in  the  Rue  Toulouse.  There  all  was 
open,  bright,  and  re-assured,  its  master  vir- 
tually, though  not  actually,  present.  The 
search  was  over  and  the  seekers  gone,  person- 
ally wiser  than  they  would  tell,  and  officially 
reporting  that  .(to  the  best  of  their  knowledge 
and  belief,  based  on  evidence,  and  especially 
on  the  assurances  of  an  unexceptionable  eye- 
witness, to  wit,  Monsieur  Vignevielle,  banker) 
Capitaine  Lemaitre  was  dead  and  buried.  At 
noon  there  had  been  a  wedding  in  the  little 
church.  Its  scenes  lingered  before  Pere  Je- 
rome's vision  now-^-the  kneeling  pair :  the 
bridegroom,  rich  in  all  the  excellences  of  man, 


122  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

strength  and  kindness  slumbering  interlocked 
in  every  part  and  feature  ;  the  bride,  a  saintly 
weariness  oix  her^pale  Jace,  her  awesome  eyes 
lifted  in  adoration  upon  the  image  of  the  Sa- 
viour; the  small  knots  of  friends  behind: 
Madame  Thompson,  large,  fair,  self-contained ; 
Jean  Thompson,  with  the  affidavit  of  Madame 
Delphine  showing  through  his  tightly  but- 
toned coat ;  the  physician  and  his.,wife,  shar- 
ing onaexpression  of  amiable  consent ;  and  last 
— yet  first — one  small,  shrinking  female  figure, 
here  at  one  side,  in  faded  robes  and  dingy 
bonnet.  She  sat  as  motionless  as  stone,  yet 
wore  a  look  of  apprenension,  and  in  the  small, 
restless  black  eyes  which  peered  out  from  the 
pinched  and  wasted  face,  betrayed  the  peace- 
lessness  -of  a  harrowed  mind ;  and  neither  the 
recollection  of  bride,  nor  of  groom,  nor  .of  po- 
tential friends  behind,  nor  the  occupation  of 
the  present  hour,  could  shut  out  from  the 
tired  priest  the  image  of  that  woman,  or  the 
sound  of  his  own  low  words  of  invitation  to 
her,  given  as  the  company  left  the  church — 
"  Come  to.  confession  this  afternoon." 


MADAME  DELPHINE.  123 

By  and  by  a  long  time  passed  without  the 
approach  of  any  step,  or  any  glancing  of  light 
or  shadow,  save  for  the  occasional  progress 
from  station  to  station  of  some  one  over  on 
the  right  who  was  noiselessly  going  the  way 
of  the  cross.  Yet  Pere  Jerome  tarried* 

"  She  will  surely  come,"  he  said  to  himself ; 
"  she  promised  she  would  come." 

A  moment  later,  his  sense,  quickened  by  the 
prolonged  silence,  caught  a  subtle  evidence  or 
two  of  approach,  and  the  next  moment  a  peni- 
tent knelt  noiselessly  at  the  window  of  his 
box,  and  the  whisper  came  tremblingly,  in 
the  voice  he  had  waited  to  hear : 

"  Benissez-moin,  mo'  Pere,  price  que  mo  peche." 
(Bless  me,  father,  for  I  have  sinned.) 

He  gave  his  blessing. 

"  Ainsi  soit-il — Amen,"  murmured  the  peni- 
tent, and  then,  in  the  soft  accents  of  the  Creole 
patois,  continued : 

"  '  I  confess  to  Almighty  God,  to  the  blessed 
Mary,  ever  Virgin,  to  blessed  Michael  the 
Archangel,  to  blessed  John  the  Baptist,  to  the 
holy  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  and  to  all  the 


124  MADAME  DELPHINE. 

saints,  that  I  have  sinned  exceedingly  in 
thought,  word,  and  deed,  through  my  fault, 
through  my  fault,  through  my  most  grievous  fault.9 
I  confessed  on  Saturday,  three  weeks  ago,  and 
received  absolution,  and  I  have  performed  the 
penance  enjoined.  Since  then—  There 

she  stopped. 

There  was  a  soft  stir,  as  if  she  sank  slowly 
down,  and  another  as  if  she  rose  up  again,  and 
in  a  moment  she  said  : 

"  Olive  is  my  child.  The  picture  I  showed 
to  Jean  Thompson  is  the  half-sister  of  my 
daughter's  father,  dead  before  my  child  was 
born.  She  is  the  image  of  her  and  of  him ; 
but,  O  God  !  Thou  knowest !  Oh  Olive,  my 
own  daughter !  " 

She  ceased,  and  was  still.  Pere  Jerome 
waited,  but  no  sound  came.  He  looked  through 
the  window.  She  was  kneeling,  with  her  fore- 
head resting  on  her  arms — motionless. 

He  repeated  the  words  of  absolution.  Still 
she  did  not  stir. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  "  go  to  thy  home  in 
peace."  But  she  did  not  move. 


MADAME  DELPHINE. 


125 


He  rose  hastily,  stepped  from  the  box,  raised 
her  in  his  arms,  and  called  her  by  name  : 

"  Madame  Delphine  !  "  Her  head  fell  back 
in  his  elbow  ;  for  an  instant  there  was  life  in 
the  eyes  —  it  glimmered  —  it  vanished,  and  tears 
gushed  from  his  own  and  fell  upon  the  gentle 
face  of  the  dead,  as  he  looked  up  to  heaven 
and  cried  : 

"  Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  her  charge  1  " 


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increasing  circle  of  Mrs.  Burnett's  readers. 
\  The  price  of  Louisiana  is  reduced  from  $1.25  to  $1.00. 


Also,  Now  Ready,  new  supplies  of  Mrs.  Burnett's  Shorter  Stories. 

"  Each  of  these  narratives  has  a  distinct  spirit,  and  can  ~be  pro- 
fitably read  by  all  classes  of  people.  They  are  told  not  only  with 
true  art,  but  deep  pathos."— BOSTON  POST. 

J.  SURliY  TIM,  and  otlxer  Stories.  1  vol.,16mo,  cloth,  $1.35 

IT.  LINDSAY'S  I/TCK     1  vol.,  16mo,  paper,    3O 

ITT    V  « KTTY  POLL.Y  PEMBERTON  «'  K         4O 

IV.  KATHLEEN «  "  «         40 

V.  THEO  ..                                                          ,      "  "  ««          30 
VT.  MISS  CRESPIGNY "          "  "         3O 

***  These  books  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  pre- 
paid, upon  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 

Nos.  743  and  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

ItEC'DlD    MAR  1V72-9'PW95 


3  6  TO  &  4 


LD2lA-50m-2,'71 
(P2001slO)476 — A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


LD  21-100m-2,'55 
(Bl39s22)476 


General  Library 
University  of  California 


